


Row Out To The Thick Darkness

by ProstheticLoVe



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Enemies to Friends, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Getting Together, Getting to Know Each Other, Immortal Husbands Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, M/M, Mutual Pining, POV Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani, POV Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Pre-Canon, Protective Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani, Protective Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, The backstory, andy and quynh come in way later, i tried to make it as accurate as possible, some historical aspects may be incorrect, the rating may change later on
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:46:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 59,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26010607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProstheticLoVe/pseuds/ProstheticLoVe
Summary: For just a moment, Nicolò wished not for the first time that the poem was about him.  And then he reminded himself, that they were friends. Just friends.A tale of two enemies who became friends and eventually lovers. Because yes, I had to write another version of enemies turned lovers.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 146
Kudos: 516





	1. 1200

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: No one belongs to me! I’m just here to play with Nicky and Joe.
> 
> Author’s Note: I watched The Old Guard thanks to Tumblr and really enjoyed and wanted to see more of Nicky and Joe. I am obsessed with pre-canon how did they go from enemies to lovers stories, so I figured I'd add my own. This will be a six chapter story with each chapter focusing on how they went from fighting to lovers. 
> 
> I am not religious, so I tried to keep everything as vague as possible. I'm not a historian, so I tried to keep everything as vague as possible. I'm just here to play with the characters and explore their relationship with themselves and with one another in a hopefully entertaining way. If I offended, please let me know. I did not add the research articles I used because there were a lot...mostly wikipedia and googling till I could google no more.
> 
> Let me know what you think of the story! And again if there are any inaccuracies, please let me know. I just really like their love story and see so much potential in it, especially because I want to know how they went from enemies to lovers. I know the fandom probs doesn't want another how they got together fic, but they are so fun to explore...I couldn't resist. I hope you enjoy it!

_ “His passion is setting snares and laying traps. _

_ My eye said to me: What is it he hunts?” _

_ ~ Unknown By Ibn Nubāta al-Miṣri _

* * *

The last image Yusuf Al-Kaysani remembered seeing were steely eyes watching him take his last breath. Those eyes were the same shade as the silver mist that fell over the Mediterranean Sea upon first dawn. When the people of the earth hadn’t awoken yet and Yusuf was alone, breathing in the salty sea, and considering the Genoese Crusader much to his own chagrin.

The first time Yusuf had stared into those eyes had been his original death. He’d been mesmerized how similar they looked to the water of the Mediterranean. How they seemed to stare into his very being until they found his hopes and dreams. 

However, in the 101 years since his first death, he decided that most of the time they looked like silver mist - calming and cool. It was only when they darkened in anger - like they had that first day he’d met the Crusader - did they resemble the depths of the water he’d long become familiar with.

He took a deep breath. Feeling the air fill his lungs, the movement reminded him that it was not his time just yet. 

Would it ever truly be his time?

It was a question he asked himself quite often.

A question he wished to discuss with the infidel, but had never been given the opportunity.

Still feeling dazed, he replayed what had led to this last death.

He’d been attacked by the Genoese Crusader. 

Again. 

His sword sliced his stomach.

Again.

Another tunic ruined.

Again.

He had found a place where he thought was safe to camp under the stars in the inky darkness of the desert. As usual, the infidel had found him and killed him as he slept. 

It wasn’t the first time the Genoese Crusader had killed him in his sleep.

Yusuf doubted that it would be the last.

He had awoken to a pain in his belly. Those ethereal eyes stared down at him with glee at catching him off guard.

Yusuf had looked down at his bloodied tunic and scowled at seeing the slice and stains from the Crusader’s sword. 

He muttered a curse at the Genoese man before his vision began to blacken and he was welcomed by death’s cold hands.

Now, he steadily got back to his feet, and looked around his small campsite. Despite how disorientating it was to awake and take his first breath of life ( _ again _ ), he always looked for the Crusader. Even though he knew he wasn’t going to be there.

He never was.

The only time he had been with Yusuf was when they’d awoken the first time after they’d killed one another. 

In the 101 years since that first death, it was difficult to break the habit of searching for the man with the pale cold eyes.

Especially when he was the one that took Yusuf’s life.

But he couldn’t help but search for him. 

He was the only familiar thing in this journey they seemed to be fated to take together. But that didn’t mean Yusuf trusted him. They may have been afflicted with this strange immortality, but that didn’t mean they were fighting on the same side. 

Yusuf had long ago come to that decision when the Crusader traipsed onto the Holy Land with a bloody song in his heart and a crucifix adorning his neck.

When they had first died, the Crusader had attacked Yusuf again and again shouting a strange word at him. It had taken a long time to figure out what that word meant, but as Yusuf traveled more and picked up different languages, he had determined he had called him a demon - _ a monster _ . 

And Yusuf couldn’t blame him. 

He thought the man was a jinn. 

But as the world began to change and they remained the same - all down to the hatred they had for one another - Yusuf realized they weren’t going anywhere.

And so they stayed on the periphery of each other’s lives. 

If he could even call this existence a life.

Even if it was his fault that Yusuf had died, he knew the man would be close by. That was just how these things worked.

Whether it was night or day, Yusuf searched for the Genoese Crusader, knowing he wasn’t far.

Neither of them ever went far from each other. 

Not after the Second Crusade.

The small campfire was still going strong next to him, but the darkness cocooned him in the desert. Yusuf had to wait for his eyes to adjust before he could begin to pack up the campsite.

He began to take stock of his belongings - the scimitar, his small pack of food, the water skin, and the camel - Arif - that had become his traveling companion for the last few years. He shuffled back to the small fire that was still burning and began to look around to see if the man with the ethereal eyes had taken anything else from him.

The last time he’d stolen the sweets he’d been given at the market in Jaffa. He scowled at the memory having looked forward to consuming the sweet desserts. It was the only thing the Genoese had taken from him, except, of course, for his life.

He always took that.

He began to clean up the little campsite he’d set up for himself, intent on hunting down the man he’d spent the last 101 years trying to kill. 

And forever failing.

Although it had gotten to the point where Yusuf wasn’t sure if he even wanted the man to disappear from his life. Not when they had fallen into this routine.

It had started in the First Crusade when Yusuf had met the man with the pale skin and eyes that drove ice through his heart. 

He’d aimed an arrow at him, which had hit his horse. He watched as the man was momentarily distracted by his animal falling and Yusuf had been caught off guard by the look of concern that seemed to overtake him. He’d turned on Yusuf with such rage, it had taken him by surprise. Staring into those cold eyes - he wasn’t able to decide if they were grey, blue, or green - had distracted him enough to end up with a sword in his stomach. Quickly, Yusef had reciprocated the wound and landed his scimitar through his heart. They died together on the war torn earth.

And they awoke together to find the other one was still alive. Thinking that he’d made a mistake, Yusuf had killed him again.

And again he died by the Genoese man’s hand.

Again.

And again.

_ And again. _

Until the First Crusade ended and the Second began. 

They chased each other. 

Always seeking one another out.

Looking back, Yusuf had decided their dance was born from the moment they had awakened that first time and they both decided the other one was a demon. Yusuf had been quicker to catch on to their immortality, but the Crusader had been the first one to chase after Yusuf.

It was many years into the Second Crusade, when Yusuf began to wonder what exactly they were still doing here. What was all of this accomplishing? All he did was seek out the Crusader and kill him. All he did was defend the Holy Land against the Crusaders. 

For decades now, he’d fought for what was right and still he remained without an answer to his questions. 

Why was he still here? 

Had he been forsaken or was he being saved? And why was this man’s fate tangled with his own?

It was on the last kill during the Second Crusade, when he’d been identified as dead by too many people. This prompted Yusuf to make his way north away from the violence. 

He wanted to continue fighting, saving his people, but how was he supposed to do that when he’d been found dead? More importantly, as the years of war raged on, he realized this was a fight that would have no end.

The Crusaders would continue coming.

Yusuf’s people would continue fighting them off.

And the Holy Land would run red with blood.

So he set off to explore other areas of the world.

He couldn’t go home. His family was long dead after decades of fighting. He tried not to think of his mother, waiting patiently for a son that would never return. He tried not to think of his sisters and his brothers who had prayed for him. He tried not to think of his father who had taught him everything he knew.

He’d been a merchant long ago, in what felt like another life. Traveling and being amongst people was a familiarity he craved and fell back into easily. 

And thus he began a journey away from the bloodshed and the Crusaders.

He never counted on the Genoese Crusader following him.

It was one night while camping on his way to Alexandria for a fresh start when Yusuf met the Genoese man again. He’d been hunting him like an animal and Yusuf had killed him yet again and moved on.

And so their long engaged duel had turned personal. Or maybe it had always been personal and Yusuf was too consumed by his hatred of the Crusaders to realize it.

It took a long time to realize the violence and the death they both caused the other had turned into a game they both revealed in. Yusuf liked to think of it as a game of cat and mouse, except they both took turns being the cat. 

And Yusuf, guessed the mouse as well. 

After he was finished packing up his belongings - and taking stock of them, the Genoese stole nothing this time, just his heartbeat - he set off in the direction of where he thought the man was going.

He’d figured out he was heading toward Antioch, presumably to get a ship back to the West. They had been playing this game of cat and mouse around the Holy Land for a century now. 

Always staying near the raging war to jump in - in Yusuf’s case to protect and in the Crusader’s case to fight. 

But based on the dreams he’d had of the other man - and Yusuf tried to tell himself that they were  _ just _ dreams and nothing more - he had a feeling the man was going back West. For what, Yusuf wasn’t sure, but he wasn’t going to let him leave. 

He wasn’t interested in looking into why he didn’t want to be left alone while the Genoese Crusader went back to his homeland.

He should be glad, not - not whatever it was he was feeling about it.

A desire to catch up with him. 

Perhaps with a wish to stop him.

Yusuf had no intention of heading after him to Genoa, so he wasn’t entirely sure what he was going to do other than continue engaging in their game. But he knew that once the man with the cold eyes got onto a ship, that was the end of their game of cat and mouse. 

After over a century, it would be finished

As he set off toward the City of Tyre, he considered if he should try a different tactic with the man. But a part of him feared changing their game and what it could mean for this strange dance they were in.

Sometimes, on days like today, he felt as if he’d been searching for the Genoese man forever. 

In truth, they’d only been chasing each other for the past few decades. 

Yusuf wondered if this was meant to be his journey for eternity. To chase a man he could not kill.

He wondered if the Genoese felt the same. He wondered why the man came after him. He wondered if the man considered their immortality. He wondered a lot of things about his fated enemy. 

What was most astounding to Yusuf was how much and how little he knew this man he’d been tied to. He didn’t know the Crusader’s name. He didn’t know who he was. And yet, he knew more about him than most ever would. Yusuf was sure of this.

He knew the man’s heart when he killed someone - lost, dark, empty.

He knew the meaning of his darkening eyes - anger.

He knew how he looked when he was being playful - those silver misty eyes and that amused little smirk. 

He knew how he held his sword - loose enough to handle, but tight enough to kill.

And his weak spots when they danced with their weapons - his belly.

It would’ve been easier to ignore this. It would’ve been easier if the man had disappeared that first time they realized they were both immortal. But instead their fate was tied together like  _ the Tale of the Red Thread _ . 

As they traveled on each other’s periphery, Yusuf noticed the Crusader’s softness. During their years of hunting each other, the man would stop every so often to help people on the way. Yusuf had noticed the kindness of the man, even when they were trying to kill each other.

Before sneaking up on him one day, he’d come across him giving the remains of his food to a family. 

Another time, he’d saved a woman from bandits on the road.

Once Yusuf had even seen him give his camel away to a group of Fatimids that were in need of transportation.

Yusuf had figured that there was more than meets the eye to the infidel, but he’d never guessed he had a heart. He’d guessed those icy pale eyes hid nothing except a deep loathing of the people Yusuf was sworn to protect.

Had he been wrong?

Was the Frank not who he thought he was? 

He told himself that seeing the man in a new light didn’t mean he was going to stop playing the cat to the Genoese’s mouse. 

He was intent on winning their little game.

Although, Yusuf had realized long ago he had no desire to see the life forever leave the man’s eyes. What fun would that be if he was the only immortal on this earth? Who else would wake him up with a sword through the stomach?

He wanted - well, he wasn’t entirely sure what he wanted.

He knew he enjoyed feeling the soft skin of the man’s neck under his fingertips.

He liked staring into those silver misty eyes he could never figure out the shade of.

He liked trying to figure out what the man was saying in his native tongue.

Yusuf had spent time learning the language of the Genoese people, but without practice, it was difficult to retain. He didn’t want to look too much into why he wanted to learn the language, just that he did. He didn’t think there was anything wrong with that. He had picked up many languages along the way, especially as a merchant. He knew he was able to communicate with the man, however archaically. 

But the Crusader didn’t want to talk. 

He wanted to kill Yusuf.

Just outside of Tyre, daylight began to greet the world. He’d purposefully avoided staying in towns for fear of who he’d run into. He always stayed on the edges at least an hour away. The Fourth Crusade was starting up and Yusuf had fought in enough of them to know he had to be careful. He wrapped his headdress for protection against the heat tighter around his head and headed into Tyre, intent on buying more supplies and tracking down the Genoese man.

* * *

Nicolò di Genova entered the City of Tyre in desperate need of something to eat and drink. He hadn’t had a proper meal in what felt like months, but was only a matter of weeks.

His body felt drained and heavy. His head was full of images of starvation and war. He would sell however many lives he had left just to sleep in a comfortable bed with a bathhouse.

But his wishes for comfort would need to wait until he found something to fill his belly and something to quench his thirst. 

It was times like these that he yearned for a companion during his travels. 

(He desperately tried not to think about the infidel during these moments of weakness.)

It would make things much easier, especially when it came to food and drink. It would also be easier to rest when there were two people. One could stand guard while the other slept peacefully. 

He may be immortal, but that didn’t mean exhaustion and lack of nutrition didn’t eat away at his body. 

He had considered taking his nemesis' food. But at the last minute had decided against it.

He was unwilling to look into why he had hesitated. 

After killing the heathen with the warm brown eyes, Nicolò cozied up by the little fire to keep away the chill from the cool desert night air. 

As he sat there in the dark of the night, he allowed his eyes to drift toward the man who he’d been trying to kill for 101 years, since the First Crusade.

He studied his face. A face he knew as well as his own after a century of taking turns killing each other. 

He’d considered for a ludicrous moment of staying beside the man he’d met in the Holy Land until he awoke. Perhaps attempting a conversation he’d had in his head a dozen or so times.

But he pushed that thought to the side, intent on continuing this game of cat and mouse they’d been playing for decades.

That they’d continue to play for decades.

Nicolò wondered if this was his punishment for all of eternity. To chase after a man who would forever only see him as the Crusader that had infiltrated his land on a mission to show the people the true God.

Long ago he’d let go of the notion that he was a just man. He’d figured that out during the last Crusade when he’d looked upon his own soldiers pillaging and raping the people of the Holy Land. It was a sight he’d seen time and time again, but something about seeing his fellow Crusaders set fire to the city made him snap.

They weren’t here for salvation.

They were here to destroy. 

And Nicolò wasn’t interested in partaking anymore.

This wasn’t his mission.

It wasn’t who he wanted to be remembered as.

For years, he thought he was on the right side of history, but as he watched the city burn, he realized how everything he’d held dear was a lie.

And so he left.

He just so happened to run into the heathen with the warm brown eyes. 

Or maybe he’d been tracking him all along.

Now, as he chased after a man who had haunted his dreams for years, he wondered if this was his true fate.

But were they really meant to kill one another again and again?

What purpose did that solve?

With a stolen glance - perhaps a few - at the infidel, Nicolò knew he needed to take his leave before he awoke. On legs that were weak from walking for so long and in need of sustenance, he headed north to the City of Tyre.

He knew the man with the warm brown eyes would catch up with him soon. 

It was always a matter of time with him.

Just like he knew he’d wake up without a scratch on him.

It was a never ending cycle. One that Nicolò may or may not enjoy more than he’d let on.

And yet, he wondered if it would ever truly stop. Surely, this wasn’t what they were destined to do? 

But Nicolò wasn’t sure what else to do with the man. 

They were not cut from the same cloth. 

They were not brothers. 

Nor were they even acquaintances.

How could he ever learn to trust a heathen? 

One who took such glee in slitting his throat?

It didn’t sit right with Nicolò. Not when he’d been raised to hate these people. Even if the hate had dulled to something that Nicolò wasn’t even sure what to call anymore.

At least for him. 

Sometimes, to himself in the dark of the night, he allowed his mind to conjure up the man whose name he had yet to discover. He’d wonder what he was doing, in the desert by himself. He’d wonder if he was lonely or if he seeked companionship. He wondered if he’d ever learn his name.

He wondered if he thought of Nicolò.

The few conversations they’d had, Nicolò wasn’t able to understand. The man with the warm brown eyes would speak to him in Arabic and Nicolò would reply to him in Ligurian, but it was of no use. 

They couldn’t understand each other. 

Not with their tongues.

Only with their weapons.

This dance they were tangled up in started the first time they’d killed each other in the First Crusade and it seemed to never stop. 

Nicolò sometimes didn’t want it to.

He wasn’t sure what he’d do without the heathen staring at him in shock or pleasure from when he landed a particularly good hit.

Over the years, he’d found they were evenly matched. Nicolò had been killed as many times as he had done the killing. 

But that did nothing to assuage the strange clenching sensation in his chest when the heathen’s eyes drifted closed and his blood stained the earth as he drifted into death.

When they took their first breath together after the original death, Nicolò felt the fear clogging his mind. 

How could he be alive with the man he’d killed when everyone else was dead? 

What had God done to him? 

What had this demon? 

But that fear transformed into anger at how he’d never reach true paradise and he’d forever be on this earth with the man who he hated above all else.

The rage flowed through his veins and Nicolò wondered if it would ever truly dissipate.

(Well, it did, in the dark of the night when thoughts of warm brown eyes, tan skin, and dark curls came to him.)

He had no interest in considering why he had those thoughts. 

Or even why his favorite way to kill the heathen was with his hands. To feel that soft brown skin beneath his rough fingertips...he never thought he’d feel so tender, so gentle to the touch. But even after he stared at the man’s temporarily dead body, he felt that weird clenching feeling in his chest, but more intense than when he used his sword. 

It was strange.

He wasn’t willing to look into why.

Eventually, he’d determined it was due to seeing a different side of the brown skinned man. A side that Nicolò didn’t realize he’d possessed. 

He’d seen the kindness of the infidel. He’d seen how he helped people who were in need. How he rescued citizens in the Holy Land from Nicolò’s brothers. How he’d risked his own life (they couldn’t be killed, but it did still hurt) to save people in a fire. He knew he was a just man (but that didn’t mean he trusted him). 

More importantly, he wasn’t sure what to make of living forever with a man he was meant to hate.

How did he reconcile these feelings? Were they meant to hate one another for all of eternity? Was Nicolò’s mission to kill him once and for all and then he’d leave this earth?

But again that strange clinching occurred in his heart when he considered seeing those warm brown eyes void of the heat they usually cared.

Perhaps, he should’ve taken the time to get to know him. Learn about the man he’d spend forever walking this earth with. But it was difficult to shake the hatred he’d been taught his whole life.

It was easier to kill than to forgive the man.

It was easier to kill than to yearn for him.

It was easier to kill than consider him a friend.

So they continued this dance because it was familiar.

Because it was safe.

Because Nicolò didn’t have to think about the suffocating feeling he had when the light went out of those warm brown eyes.

After their first meeting during the First Crusade, Nicolò had searched him out, again and again and again. Until he’d seen the truth of what they were truly doing to the people of the Holy Land. The people who wanted nothing but to live in peace. 

It resonated with him. 

The haunted looks of people fighting for a war they no longer believed in. As the First Crusader turned into the Second, the Third and now the Fourth, he realized there was no end to this war.

Perhaps, if he was being honest and upon reflection in his later years, he’d realize he only continued to seek out the Crusades and to fight in them to find his murderer with the warm brown eyes and the big heart. The man who looked at him with fire in his orbs as he slid the sword into him like he was butter. 

He’d only wanted to find him.

And so he searched for him for decades, but the ending remained the same.

The City of Tyre had a market, Nicolò knew from previous trips to the city. He was intent on making his way through the stalls until he replenished his goods. After, he’d seek out to locate an inn to spend the night before heading up to Antioch. His final destination before sailing back to Italy.

He wasn’t sure where else to go.

He’d been wandering the Holy Land and the surrounding areas for a 100 years now. It was time to go home.

Even though there was nothing to go back to. 

But he was risking the chance of being found out for what he truly was, especially with the Fourth Crusade starting up again.

But he was hesitant to go.

Another consideration he wasn’t willing to look into.

He certainly couldn’t ask his killer to come with him.

That would be ludicrous.

Walking through the stalls, he tightened his head wrap around himself a bit more to ward off the morning sun and curious looks. It wasn’t unusual for people who looked like him to frequent the larger cities, but Nicolò didn’t want any trouble. 

And sometimes trouble found him.

More often than not, trouble found him.

_ Another reason to seek out a traveling companion. _

Haggling with the locals, Nicolò loaded his bag with treats and made sure to grab a few of the sweets that he’d found out he liked. Making his way toward a tavern one of the stall owners had directed him to, he was looking forward to laying his head down on a pillow and finding rest. 

If the last thing he saw before he closed his eyes were those warm brown eyes filled with passion, then so be it. 

No one would know.

* * *

Nicolò wasn’t surprised when he found the infidel sitting at the desk in the small room he had rented at the inn. He was thumbing through the new purchases Nicolò had made in the market earlier. A range of expressions slid across his face as he identified each item.

Through narrowed eyes, Nicolò watched him take out the little package of desserts he’d bought and look at them with glee. 

He was looking forward to savoring those. 

And now his murderer was stealing them away.

He heard him mutter something in his native tongue, but Nicolò’s Arabic wasn’t yet good enough to decipher what he’d said.

_ If we traveled together, he’d teach me. _

Scowling, Nicolò cleared his throat pointedly.

The brunette looked at him and grinned in amusement.

“What are you doing, heathen?” Nicolò asked knowing full well that the man wasn’t able to understand him.

He could barely string together a sentence in Arabic, so it was easier to default back to Ligurian. Perhaps, he could try Sabir. 

They had rarely spoken over the years. 

Nicolò wasn’t sure if that was due to the inability to communicate with one another or because they relied on their weapons to say what their tongues couldn’t.

But as the years passed, Nicolò wished they could have a real conversation.

Find common ground.

One with their tongues rather than their weapons.

It was something that was becoming more and more prominent. 

A yearning that grew.

Nicolò always prided himself on learning languages. He already knew three fluently before his first death. But as much as he tried to learn the other man’s language (for reasons he wouldn’t yet think about), he couldn’t seem to grasp it. 

He wondered if the infidel knew any other languages besides Arabic. It would be much easier for the both of them if he knew Sabir or Ligurian. 

The man with the warm brown eyes smirked and in Ligurian said, “what does it look like?”

Nicolò could feel his eyes widen as his brunette counterpart spoke to him in his native tongue. The man’s smirk widened until it almost looked teasing and pocketed the little dessert.

“Surprised, Crusader?” The man said softly

In response, Nicolò said, “Put those back.”

“Fairs fair,” he said already moving into a fighting pose 

Nicolò grabbed his sword that he had placed besides the bed and moved to get to his feet. The man grinned at him and positioned his own scimitar to protect himself. 

The room was quaint making it difficult to move around. There was the small pathway to the door and that was about it. The rest of the room was filled with the bed and the desk that pleasantly looked out into the back alleyway.

Nicolò wasn’t interested in breaking anything, not when the woman had been kind enough to rent him a room on a discount. He surprised both of them by tossing his sword to the floor. The man raised his eyebrows at him as if to say, ‘what are you playing at, Crusader?’

“I don’t want to break anything.”

“And here I thought we finally came to an understanding.”

Nicolò frowned slightly as he took those words in. He realized as he watched the other man throw his own sword to the floor that he’d been alluding to putting a halt to their fighting. 

Maybe they were on the same footing after all.

But he had little time to ruminate on how to respond when quick as a flash, he hit Nicolò in the face. 

Stumbling back, he brought a hand to his now bleeding nose. Nicolò looked up to find the man smiling slightly at the well placed hit. He brought his hands back up to protect his face and moved around Nicolò waiting for him to make his own move. They danced around each other, both looking for a weak spot to harm the other.

If Nicolò was being honest, he found himself enjoying the back and forth they were participating in.

Even if it cut into his opportunity to have a real discussion between them.

He noticed as they circled one another that this was different than their usual scrimmages. 

More drawn out.

It wasn’t the first time they’d fought with their hands. There had been a time in the Sahara desert when they had foregone swords and had fought until neither of them could move. He found he enjoyed the challenge and anticipating his immortal counterpart’s next move.

Nicolò ducked out of the way as the man with the warm brown eyes made a grab for him. He dropped down to the floor and attempted to kick his feet out from under him, but the man jumped and lunged, this time tackling him until his back hit the ground. 

They rolled and tussled, knocking into furniture. 

He heard the soft grunts from the man as he landed on top and wrapped his legs around his waist, keeping him pinned to the floor as he moved to grab his hands. 

Except the man was quicker and punched him in the stomach. He flipped them easily until he was on top of Nicolò and had his top and bottom half pinned to the floor.

He grinned down at Nicolò in amusement and then sat back slightly as if to say ‘there, I won.’ 

He said something in his native tongue and then with an almost apologetic look, he moved forward and wrapped his hands around his neck.

The last thing Nicolò thought before he died was that he liked how large his hands were. They were warm, just like his eyes.

* * *

Yusuf sat beside the other man’s dead body for a few minutes until he heard the telltale signs of coughing and gasping as he came back to life. It was only then did he begin to move to leave the Crusader alone. 

He took one more moment to stare at the Frank, a question he’d considered many times materialized in his head as he gazed upon the other man. 

_ What if our purpose was more than just killing one another?  _

Yusuf wondered if he’d ever truly know the answer to that question. 

The man had no desire to talk.

Not to Yusuf at least.

In the beginning, Yusuf had thought that it was useless to try to talk to the man. As the years went on, he realized if he had opened his mouth during those first few years of killing each other, perhaps they would have understood one another better.

Perhaps they would be friends now.

He smiled slightly to himself at the thought and shook his head, berating himself for being such an idealist.

Just because the other man was an immortal, it didn’t mean they had to be friends.

And yet, Yusuf wondered again what if their purpose was more than killing each other?

Pushing those thoughts away, he began to think of what he needed to do at the market. He was planning on continuing on his journey and needed to get sustenance. He wanted to make it out of the city before nightfall to make his way back to his campsite.

As Yusuf made his way toward the door, he was stopped by a croaky ‘wait’ in Arabic.

He turned around to face the man who was already healed. He watched as he slowly sat up and leaned against the foot of the bed. 

“You speak Arabic?” Yusuf asked, amazed. 

He wondered now that the flood gates of speech had opened if this was the end to their decades long battle they’d been tangled in. Would they finally come to an impasse? 

Yusuf wasn’t sure if he wanted their dance to come to an end.

Sometimes he did.

Other times he didn’t.

He wasn’t interested in figuring out why he did.

Or why he didn’t.

The man let out a raspy laugh and shook his head. He held up his hand and made a gesture with his fingers to indicate a little.

Yusuf smiled slightly and said in Ligurian, “what other languages do you speak?”

The man began to name them until Yusuf stopped him and switched to Sabir, which he’d learned long ago as a merchant. Ligurian he wasn’t quite fluent in, but he felt comfortable enough to show off to the Frank in Sabir. It had stuck with him through his travels.

Yusuf wondered as he stared down at the pale man with the cold eyes if he was feeling the same as him about their decades-long dance.

However, he wasn’t sure if he was willing to make peace. 

Not when he wasn’t sure if he could trust the other man.

Not when he’d seen what he could do to other people.

Yusuf’s people.

“Why haven’t we tried this before?”

“Conversations seemed pointless,” the man said with a slight smile.

Yusuf bit his lip to stop himself from smiling too. He studied the Frank before him, still sitting at Yusuf’s feet leaning against the bed. He stared up at him with those ethereal eyes and Yusuf was overcome with a desire to finally get the answer to the question that had been on his mind for a very long time.

“What’s your name?” Yusuf asked, leaning against the door.

The man opened his mouth to respond when there was a scream outside the inn. It sounded as if it was below the window. 

Yusuf took off running toward it, already intent on helping whomever was in peril. He took off down the hallway of the inn. Down the three steps toward the little lobby with the makeshift desk and out the front door. He only had to take a few steps to see why she’d screamed. 

There was a group of Crusaders surrounding the woman. One of them held her by her arms and was speaking lewd things to her. 

He wasn’t surprised to find the woman who had helped him find his Frank surrounded by Crusaders. The Crusaders seemed to be tackling any city they could enter and taking advantage of the people there. Yusuf had seen it time and time again. Over the last 100 years, each instance burned itself into his brain. It mounted his hatred of the Crusaders. Their need to pillage and slaughter every individual they came across. Their desire to take and take until nothing was left.

This wasn’t about religion.

It was about conquering, enslaving, killing.

All because the Christians needed to justify their God.

Yusuf was sick of it.

He’d been sick of it for decades, but each time he had to rescue another person was another reminder why the Crusaders couldn’t be trusted.

Why  _ his _ Crusader shouldn’t be trusted.

“Let her go. She has done nothing to deserve this,” Yusuf yelled at them.

The taller of the four Crusaders smirked at him. He spat on the ground near his face and called him a slur that slashed across Yusuf’s skin. “You going to stop us? We have you outnumbered.”

Yusuf glowered and raised his sword. He knew he was outnumbered, but he wasn’t going to let this woman suffer. 

He couldn’t stand by and watch. 

He wasn’t built like that.

“This doesn’t concern you,” the Crusader snapped pulling the woman closer to him.

She stared at Yusuf with fear clear across her face. She was muttering under her breath and he didn’t need to hear what she was saying to know she was praying. The Crusader tightened his grip on her and the edges of Yusuf’s sight began to blacken. He wouldn’t let the Crusaders take advantage of another of his people.

They’d taken too many already.

Crouching down to prepare to fight, he felt the anger flow through his veins, giving him the strength he needed to ignore the laughter and taunts of the Crusaders. Lunging forward, he used his scimitar to slice the Crusader closest to him. The others watched in horror as he fell to his knees and held the gash in his stomach. Blood stained the sandy ground, rippling down the alleyway. The Crusader collapsed backward and let out a low moan as his wound continued to bleed out. The others slowly looked at Yusuf with differing looks of alarm.

“You were saying?” Yusuf responded with a slight smirk.

“We still outnumber you. Brother, come here,” the tall Crusader said gesturing to something behind Yusuf.

He didn’t have to look behind him to know that it was the Genoese man who was there. His stomach sunk as he realized that while none of these Crusaders could take him, his Frank could. 

Images of him helping Yusuf’s own people came sweeping through his mind’s eye. Reminding him that those cold steely eyes didn’t just house hatred for the people of the Holy Land. There was a warmth that rested in the Frank. 

Yusuf knew there had to be.

The Frank wasn’t the devil he’d always perceived him as.

He knew that.

But what about if Yusuf was fighting against the Crusader’s own people?

Would the Frank stand up to his brothers? Or would he fight alongside them?

Yusuf had never seen his Crusader raise his sword to his own kind. He’d seen him help fellow travelers, lost children, families, but never had he stepped in to fight his fellow Crusaders.

Would he help him now?

Would they fight together?

Or had their temporary reprieve from fighting been an illusion Yusuf had hoped for in lieu of their conversation?

Yusuf hadn’t dreamed of the desire to put their weapons down in exchange for words. He’d heard the Genoese man say ‘wait’ as if he wanted to talk. 

It had happened.

And yet, here they were, weapons back in their hands. 

Hatred clear in their eyes as they prepared for another battle.

Yusuf’s back was to him making it the perfect position for the man to stab him. He wondered if he was going to go through with it. If it was Yusuf in the position, he’d choose his brothers over his enemies. 

Any sane person would. 

And just like that they were back to being on the opposite ends of history.

He saw movement out of the corner of his eye as his Crusader came to stand beside him. A shard of hope weaseled its way into his chest and he cast him a sidelong look as he waited to see what he’d do.

“Comrades, let’s put down the weapons and let the lady go,” he said nonchalantly. As if they were asking them to move over in the market. As if they weren’t face-to-face with Crusaders with one dying on the sandy earth.

Yusuf watched as he approached the others with a steady hand out. His eyes were on the woman.

The shortest Crusader sneered, “have you forgotten who you are, brother? These heathens are inhuman. They aren’t natural. We must show them the truth.”

The Crusader holding the woman jumped in with another slur thrown at Yusuf. He felt his anger rise higher and higher, crashing over him as the word cut his skin. His hand twitched on his scimitar and he yearned to move forward and slice through the remaining Crusaders until there was nothing left.

His Frank took another step toward the group of men, coming to stand in front of him. Blocking him from the Crusaders.

“War isn’t the answer, comrades. Let her go,” he repeatedly, his voice clear and sharp.

The Crusaders glowered at him. “He killed one of our own. He must pay for his sins.”

He leaned forward in an attempt to get around his Frank at the same time Yusuf lunged forward to break the woman free. 

The one who held her tried to stab her, but she stomped on his foot and ran as Yusuf advanced toward him. In retaliation, he sliced his head off in one swing. 

He moved toward the other Crusader who nicked him with his sword, but Yusuf was faster. He stabbed him cleanly in the heart. He twisted around toward the last Crusader who was standing over his immortal counterpart. He hadn’t even seen the Frank fall; he’d been so caught up with his own battle. 

Had the man even fought? 

Was he dead?

Yusuf didn’t have time to consider what happened to the immortal Frank as the last Crusader swiftly came toward him.

Yusuf moved forward and slid his sword into the man. He watched him fall to his knees, an odd gurgling coming from him.

He looked around him to make sure that everyone was dead and then his eyes landed on the man with the cold eyes. His throat had been sliced, but Yusuf knew he’d be okay. 

They were always okay.

He crouched down next to him and put a hand on his shoulder wondering how long he’d take to wake up. He felt the anger simmer in his blood still and he wondered why he still felt such frustration when he’d taken care of the Crusaders. He was the last man standing. He should be joyous. Not feel as if he could go another round.

“Frank, wake up,” Yusuf instructed, shaking him slightly.

He wasn’t sure if this would work since he was dead not sleeping, but he tried to rouse him again.

He sighed when the man still didn’t awake. He tried to shake him harder, but all it did was cause the blood to gush a little more from him.

“Wake up,” Yusuf instructed in anger. He moved to grab him by both of his shoulders, but before he could, he heard the sound of running footsteps. 

Suddenly, Yusuf found himself surrounded by a dozen more Crusaders. They surrounded them in the small alleyway. Glancing down at his still unconscious Frank, Yusuf sighed as he realized how this looked. 

“Good day,” Yusuf said jovially.

One of the Crusaders stepped forward and glared at him. “You dare to kill men of God, heathen?”

Yusuf let out a small chuckle, “guess you outnumber me.” 

“Seems that way,” the Crusader said. 

Yusuf watched as one of them moved forward and he was brought into another duel. Swinging his scimitar backwards and forwards to create a path to safety. 

He resolved not to look over at his Crusader. He knew he was probably finally waking up, but he was no good in this fight now. Not when Yusuf continued to fight his brothers and the Frank had been little help in the last duel. He could figure out what to do once he awoke to Crusaders who thought he was dead. 

It would be easier to leave him there. 

_ So what if he left the Frank? _

Yusuf figured he’d do the same to him.

Seeing an opening in the mob of men, Yusuf took it and began to run down the alleyway. He could hear the Crusaders behind him, but he didn’t want to look back. He took off down the street and sprinted away. 

What good would it do him to think the man had changed during the last 101 years of their game of cat and mouse?

He shouldn’t have been so silly to think he would turn his back on his brothers. He owed nothing to Yusuf. They had tried to kill each other for a century. 

They were meant to hate each other. 

Nothing more; nothing less.

He couldn’t trust him to help.

He couldn’t trust him at all.

As Yusuf ran through the streets of Tyre toward the small campsite he’d set up outside the city, he thought about how he wished that things could’ve changed between him and the Frank. How one conversation of a shared language could’ve changed 101 years of hunting one another.

How ignorant Yusuf had been to think a Frank could ever be on his side.

To think he could ever trust a Frank.

How ignorant indeed.

* * *

Nicolò didn’t think he’d ever get used to his first few gasps of breath as he came back to this earth. But it was even worse when he reawakened to find himself surrounded by dead bodies. He placed a hand to his throat, feeling the dried blood that flaked across his skin and took a deep breath. Slowly, getting to his feet, he replayed the last few minutes before he died.

The woman.

His fellow Crusaders.

His curly haired brunette.

All that was left were dead bodies of his once brothers.

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, taking in the carnage that surrounded him. Making his way back to the inn, he needed to retrieve his items. He wasn’t sure where the man with the warm brown eyes had gone, but judging from the bodies that had stacked up, he wasn’t in any need of help.

Besides, he needed to get out of here before someone noticed he had died and come back to life.

Noticing the door was locked, Nicolò began to look for another way into the inn to grab the small amount of items he had. He considered leaving them behind, much as he’d done with so many other things throughout his journey, but he needed his belongings. 

He walked around the building and found an open window. Crawling in, he made his way back out into the hallway to find his room. His room was exactly as he’d left it. His items in his little satchel near the desk. The bedding rumbled from where he’d slept. It was still open from when he’d taken off after his counterpart. 

Quickly gathering everything, he climbed out the window of the inn and took off to find the man with the warm brown eyes. 

Making his trek out of Tyre, Nicolò advanced into the surrounding desert. His eyes peeled for the man, a yearning curled in the pit of his stomach to find out where he’d run to.

The heathen may not need his help, but Nicolò knew how this game was played. Whether he was going to kill the man when he found him or they were going to sit down and finish their conversation, Nicolò knew they had unfinished business.

They always did.

* * *

As night began to fall and millions of stars littered the sky, Nicolò saw a set of rocks in the distance. His search for the man had been unfounding, but he knew if he slept, he’d locate the man easier. The dreams he had of the heathen with black curls and brown eyes always told Nicolò where to locate him. He wasn’t sure why this was, but the dreams seemed to have gotten worse in recent years. Sometimes they weren’t fighting in them at all. Sometimes they were just talking. Once -  _ once _ Nicolò had a dream that left him feeling heated with a heavy burning of lust in his stomach. 

He tried not to think of that one.

Even if he’d long ago accepted his own desires, he could never yearn for a heathen. There were plenty of other men he could find solace with. 

But  _ never _ an infidel.

As he got closer to the formation of rocks, he realized someone had already claimed the area.

He smiled slightly when he saw the heathen trying to start a fire.

“Wasn’t sure if I’d find you before nightfall,” Nicolò called to him as he came closer.

The man looked up and scowled, “not feasting with your infidel brethren?”

Nicolò frowned as images of the scared woman in the arms of the Crusader came back to him. The heathen’s anger at seeing another of his people hurt. He cleared his throat and said quietly, “I am sorry for what happened. To the woman. To you.”

“Why are you here?” he snipped.

Nicolò was quiet as he contemplated how to answer that question. 

Why  _ was _ he here? 

It wasn’t to kill him. 

He knew that.

But he didn’t want to admit his need to seek him out either. His desire to talk to him outweighed the desire to kill him. He didn’t want to see the look of disgust if Nicolò admitted he wanted to speak rather than fight. 

It was strange. Something had shifted in that inn room and Nicolò had questions he wanted answered. 

Or maybe things had been shifting all along and Nicolò finally realized that the other man was tired of the fighting too.

They both wanted to talk.

And yet, Nicolò found himself hesitating.

_ The killing could wait for now. _

“For the usual reasons,” Nicolò said finally.

“So you’re here to try and kill me. Again?” he responded with a dark little laugh.

Nicolò shook his head and set his belongings down. If he couldn’t verbalize what he wanted, then perhaps the gesture would help. After a moment, when the other man hadn’t reached for his scimitar, Nicolò let out a little sigh he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

It seemed for now that they had reached a tentative truce. 

“No. I’m not,” Nicolò admitted.

The man watched him carefully. The lighting was growing dimmer and dimmer by the moment, but Nicolò could still make out his facial expression. The flicker of shadows across his face made his features stand out. They glowed in the flames of the fire, his eyes looked brighter and fiercer. His hair was darker in the early hours of the evening; causing those curls to appear thicker, softer. 

Nicolò was overcome by the sudden desire to reach out and touch those messy locks. 

“Then what are you doing here?”

Nicolò continued to stare at him over the fire. The sounds of burning embers filled the tense silence. The man’s warm brown eyes stayed fixated on him until something flickered across his face and a knowing look appeared there. Nicolò wasn’t sure what his features had shown the man, but whatever it was he saw, it seemed to give him the answer he needed. He finally turned away. 

Poking the fire with a stick, he cleared his throat and murmured, “I see.”

Nicolò gingerly sat down on the ground next to his bag instead of responding. He hoped that his decisive actions spoke the words he had yet to say out loud.

He continued to watch the man tend to the fire, his eyes no longer studying him. His body felt tense as he sat across from his enemy, but his mind reminded him that killing each other led to nothing. 

It was time to try a different approach.

“What is your na--” the man started but was cut off when the sound of horses echoed through the desert. 

Nicolò turned around and searched the darkening landscape to spot where the animals were coming from. He sighed heavily when he eyed a group of four men coming toward them. He knew, like the woman earlier, that this wasn’t going to be good.

Why couldn’t they just have a moment alone? 

Why did they continue to have to fight?

He just wanted to talk to the man and yet they seemed to be plagued by violence.

“Ah, we were just speaking about how hungry we were,” the man on the closest horse said to them.

Nicolò stared at him and then looked back at his heathen.

“Well, you are close to Tyre. If you go toward--” the man with the warm brown eyes began.

The bandits - which is what Nicolò identified them as once they came closer - laughed and dismounted their horses. One of them walked toward Nicolò and the other came to stand near his infidel.

“I think we’ll just take this cozy little campsite and send you on your way,” one of the bandits said.

Nicolò sighed and looked toward his counterpart. 

The man with the brown eyes looked back at him with raised eyebrows and in one clean move he pulled his scimitar from where it sat beside him. Nicolò swung his own sword causing the laughter to cease.

Without much thought, Nicolò began to duel with the man in front of him. He felt his opponent’s knife slice into his skin, but he ignored it as he swung his sword into his belly. The man let out a low groan at the contact and Nicolò moved on to the next bandit, focusing on making his attacks quick and lethal. 

When they were finished, he turned to the heathen who was breathing heavily over the dead bodies of the two he’d killed. 

Without speaking, he moved the bodies away from their campsite and into the darkness of the desert. His companion followed him in silence and then they went back to the fire. He moved toward the horses, untied each of the saddle bags and handed them to Nicolò methodically. 

He began to go through their belongings while the other man took the horses toward his camel, setting them up with food and water.

Another silence had fallen over them, as if they’d been doing this forever. Nicolò didn’t mind it. Every so often he glanced over at the other man to find him stroking the horses, speaking softly to them and his camel to make sure they were okay.

Taking out item after item from the bags, Nicolò considered if they could scavenge anything. 

He was surprised when the other man joined him. He’d expected to have to clean up the bandits alone.

And perhaps, he hadn’t expected for them to fall into some sort of pattern so easily. For the first time in a very long time, Nicolò realized that maybe this was the path he was supposed to be on.

Maybe this was right.

“What’s your name?” the man asked as he came back toward Nicolò to search the saddle bags they had placed on the ground.

Nicolò smiled slightly and said, “Nicolò di Genova. Yours?”

“Yusuf Al-Kaysani.”

Nicolò set down the saddle bag he’d been searching through and bowed his head slightly to him. 

Giving him a polite smile, he said, “happy to meet you.”

Yusuf stared at him for a long moment and then nodded his head. Turning back to searching through the men’s bags, Nicolò figured that this was some sort of temporary truce they’d reached.

“Would you like to travel together?” Yusuf asked casually.

Nicolò had never wanted to say ‘yes’ more.


	2. One Year

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nicolò and Yusuf learn to trust each other in their first year together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to those of you who have stopped to read this little fic! I'm excited now that we've gotten past the first chapter. The rest of it will jump forward in time after this chapter and if you didn't notice before, we switch POVs between Joe and Nicky. There's no violence in this chapter just getting to know each other. I hope you guys like it! Thanks for those of you who kudoed or bookmarked. Leave a comment if you'd like! A new chapter will be up next week.

_ “Put more trust in nobility of character than in an oath.”  _

_ ~Solon  _

* * *

Years later, Nicolò would always remember that first night around the campfire. It was hard to forget those glances he snuck at Yusuf. How the flames reflected off of his face or the delicate curls that caressed his forehead. The eerie quiet that wrapped around them and the distant sounds of howling wolves created an ambiance that Nicolò would remember as a simpler time. It was a precursor to the evenings they’d spend together for years.

Sometimes, he’d bring it up to Yusuf as a reminder of how far they’d come. Sometimes he’d just sit and think about how on edge he’d been at that moment - that first night. On the very rare occasion, he’d remember the hot flow of salty tears that trailed down his cheeks when Yusuf went to sleep. He had spent a 100 years fighting, surviving, and killing and now, he had the opportunity to rest. 

And yet, when he closed his eyes, he saw what he always did -  _ death _ .

It wasn’t the first time he cried, nor would it be the last. But now that he was traveling with another person, he needed to keep his tears to himself. He didn’t want Yusuf to see his weakness. 

To think he was not a man.

After he’d said ‘yes’ to Yusuf, they’d sat in silence. Neither of them knew or perhaps wanted to interact with the other. Nicolò had been lost in thoughts of what came next. How long would they travel together? And was Yusuf plotting his demise?

Logically, he wouldn’t have asked him to travel together if he wanted to kill him. But the other, darker side of his mind, the part that conjured up images of the violence he’d seen on the battlefield reminded him that he should trust no one.

Especially an infidel.

Nicolò knew as he sat across from his new traveling companion that it wouldn’t be so easy to shake the decades-long unease he felt. It took him a long time to realize it wasn’t exactly hatred, but discomfort. It took him even longer to realize  _ why _ he was so uncomfortable around his immortal counterpart. 

But that first night around the fire, Nicolò chalked it up to not knowing how to act around someone who he told himself he still hated even though he knew it wasn’t exactly the entire truth. He had not hated Yusuf for some time.

Years later he’d even question hating him at all.

It was just easier to  _ think _ he loathed the fellow instead of untangle all the other feelings he had toward him. The feelings that occurred when he looked into those warm brown eyes.

That first night as he stared up at the stars, he thought about Yusuf’s eyes. It wouldn’t be the first time he did, nor the last. He decided while he listened to Yusuf’s breaths even out and those unwilling tears traveled down his cheeks, there was kindness glowing behind them.

Yusuf should hate him.

He was sure he  _ did  _ hate him.

And yet, he was taking a chance on him.

Trusting him.

Nicolò should return the favor by placing his trust in Yusuf.

Show him the kindness that Yusuf has shown him by willingly putting his weapon down and choosing peace rather than violence.

It had been a long time since someone was kind toward him and Nicolò savored that feeling.

Later - years and years later - he’d ask Yusuf why he’d been so quiet those first few nights and his love would laugh and give him a teasing smile.

“I wasn’t sure if you wanted to talk to me. You were so abrasive,” he would say fondly.

And Nicolò would lean in and place a gentle kiss on his lips, wanting to taste the smile on his love’s mouth. He’d whisper that he only ever wanted to talk to him - as long as Yusuf would allow it.

And Yusuf would laugh softly and place a trail of kisses down his neck, down his chest, until their mouths were preoccupied and minds were focused on different matters.

Yusuf made that time when they were first getting to know each other seem oh-so-simple. 

And perhaps it was, but at the time, there was nothing easy about what was going on between them.

That first night would stay with Nicolò as a reminder.

A reminder of how hard Nicolò still had to work to pay for the sins he’d caused these people.

A reminder that things were never easy.

A reminder that he had to learn to trust a man he’d been taught to hate.

Against his better judgement. 

One he’d killed over and over through the years - many times.

One who had killed him many, many times.

There was a point where Nicolò had wished to be stuck with someone else for eternity. Someone more like him.

It wasn’t long before he came to realize that he was stuck with the right person. The perfect person. 

He wouldn’t trade Yusuf for another for all the treasure in the world. 

But that first night, Nicolò had to squash down the burning discomfort and guilt he felt at being around this man who didn’t ask anything except patience and trust.

Contrition filled his body, from the top of his head to the bottom of his toes at that realization.

The one thing that stood out to him - it only seemed to escalate as they tentatively began this journey together of getting used to one another - was that Yusuf wasn’t all that he appeared to be.

He was layered.

And Nicolò didn’t understand all of those layers.

One moment he’d be quiet and contemplative and another he’d almost seem angry with Nicolò.

Asking him questions about his time as a Crusader.

Asking if he regretted coming to the Holy Land.

He knew he deserved those questions. If it was him in Yusuf’s shoes, he never would have agreed to travel with him in the first place.

To remember everything they saw… Nicolò knew he should be grateful to him, but then again neither of them had much of a choice.

Nicolò fought his disdain toward Yusuf each and every day. He had to remind himself that this was a man who had no intention of harming him. This was a man who he shared a common ground with. This was a man he was supposed to trust.

Nicolò wasn’t sure how to turn his distrust off. He wasn’t wired to rely on someone. He’d been alone so long he wasn’t even sure if he could anymore.

He wasn’t sure how to interact with someone who wasn’t trying to kill him.

He wasn’t sure how to travel with another person.

He wasn’t sure how to let his guard down.

Was Yusuf having this many difficulties?

Sometimes Nicolò thought he did and other times he seemed like he didn’t want to dwell in the past. That he was able to push through the violence and the death they’d seen because he wasn’t the one who wronged people. He had defended his land and Nicolò had been the one to slaughter his people without blinking an eye. 

For him, it was easier to stay quiet and keep his head down. To help when needed and to stay away when he felt he was standing in the way. To give Yusuf the space he needed without frustrating him.

On the first night of becoming a two-some, Nicolò had volunteered to keep first watch. He didn’t like sleeping much anyway, fear of those blood red visions and phantom aches and pains from the battlefield kept him up.

After the horses and Yusuf’s camel were fed and their bags were a bit heavier with the newly procured items from the bandits, Nicolò sat down at the campfire and began to set up the blankets for his bedroll. He slept across from Yusuf, unwilling to get closer to the other man. But a strange yearning to sleep closer settled in his chest. He struggled to ignore it and focus on what tomorrow would bring.

Yusuf took out a little notebook, leaned against one of the rocks and began to write or draw in it. 

Nicolò tried not to watch him. 

He tried to give him some semblance of privacy.

He couldn’t help it though. 

Taking in his profile in the dim lighting of the fire, Nicolò felt an odd swooping in his stomach. 

Needing a distraction, Nicolò went rooting around his bag to find the book he’d taken from the bandit’s bags. However, it was in Arabic and he had absolutely no idea what it said. He was able to recognize a few words, but he was much too stubborn to ask his new traveling companion to help him understand the book. 

Instead, he put it away and leaned back to stare at the stars, the crackling of the fire, and the sound of charcoal against paper filled the night air. The combination of cool desert air and comforting silence settled between them, caressing Nicolò until he felt at least slightly relaxed. 

But that didn’t mean he’d put his guard down around his enemy. Not with him sleeping so close to him. 

He wondered if he’d ever sleep again while traveling with his new companion. 

A while later, Yusuf prepared to sleep and Nicolò stayed awake to keep watch. He focused on looking at the stars, seeking out the constellations he’d learned in his youth. When he located all of the ones he remembered, his eyes darted toward Yusuf’s sleeping form.

His brow was furrowed and his mouth had fallen open into a silent ‘o.’ 

Nicolò wondered what he dreamed about, but by the frown he assumed it was nothing good.

Perhaps it was of his family - what had become of them after he’d gone to war?

Perhaps he’d left a sweet wife behind who spent her last days on earth waiting for his return.

Perhaps he’d had children or siblings that waited for him who he never saw again.

Or perhaps it was what Nicolò dreamed off - death and destruction.

Unwillingly, the telltale signs of tears spring to his eyes. His face flushed and he hoped Yusuf was a deep sleeper as the salty trails slid down his cheeks. It had been sometime since he’d allowed himself to cry, but as he looked away from his new companion, he wondered how he’d travel with a man that made him feel so much guilt at what he’d done to his people.

How could Yusuf forgive him when he himself hadn’t repented for his sins?

How could Yusuf want to travel with him when he knew all he’d done?

Nicolò wiped away his tears and tried to focus on what came next. He couldn’t fix his past, but he could move forward - be better for the future.

* * *

Yusuf wasn’t sure what to make of his new traveling companion. He’d asked him to travel with him because he wasn’t sure what other option they had. They couldn’t kill one another for the rest of their lives. What good would that do?

There had to be more to this immortality that the both of them were missing. He hoped to find the answer together, but their previous issues still remained.

He didn’t particularly trust the other man. 

Not even in the slightest. 

He found him to be odd too.

Too silent.

Too cold.

Too proud.

Sometimes he looked at Yusuf with a blank expression and he wasn’t sure how to read him.

He stared at Yusuf a lot, as if he was waiting for him to let his guard down.

Waiting to slide his sword in his gut.

He wasn’t sure what to make of those ethereal eyes always being trained on him.

He wasn’t sure what to make of Nicolò.

That first night around the fire, he’d tried to ignore the other man, but couldn’t shake the distrust that lodged itself in his stomach.

He couldn’t shake his eyes.

Yusuf had considered talking to the Frank, but he wasn’t sure what to say. He didn’t have a lot of experience talking to a man who hours ago he had killed.

A million possible questions floated through his head as he began to draw in his little notebook, but none of them passed through his lips.

He wanted to ask things he’d thought about discussing with Nicolò for awhile now.

And now he had the opportunity.

But he wasn’t sure how to form the words. And it wasn’t the language barrier that made him hesitate.

Instead, he pocketed away his questions for another day. For when they had gotten to know each other a bit better. For when Yusuf was sure the other man wouldn’t betray him.

So instead of talking to his new companion, Yusuf drew.

It was only after, when the Frank muttered, ‘I’ll take the first watch’ did he realize he had been drawing Nicolò.

When he was sure Nicolò wasn’t paying attention, Yusuf ripped the paper from his notebook and went to toss it in the fire. At the last moment, he stopped and tucked it back in the notebook, meant to be forgotten.

* * *

The next morning Yusuf thought it was the sun that woke him up, but in fact it was Nicolò. The man had put out the fire and was packing up the camel and the horses. He wondered momentarily if he planned on taking off with everything and leaving Yusuf high and dry outside of Tyre.

“You’re awake,” Nicolò said glancing at him before tossing him a piece of bread and some cheese.

Yusuf caught it easily and watched as he continued packing everything away. He began to eat the food slowly, still feeling drowsy. 

“Are you in a hurry?” Yusuf asked, washing down his breakfast with water from his jug.

Nicolò shook his head without looking at him.

Yusuf nodded and began to ready himself for morning prayer. He tried to keep to his traditions while traveling, being a bit more forgiving with himself, especially on the road. He moved around the rocks to get more privacy, but he could feel those cold pale eyes on him as he began to pray.

Once he was finished, he came back to the campsite to find Nicolò finishing the clean up of the campsite. He was patiently waiting for Yusuf near the horses, taking his time to tie the bags securely.

“Do you pray in the mornings?” Yusuf asked curiously.

Nicolò shook his head. 

He realized he must be slowing Nicolò down, so he began to move back toward his bedroll. He had never been much of a morning person.

“What was your plan?” Yusuf asked after taking a swig of water.

Nicolò was quiet as he finished off tying the bags to the horses and Arid. Yusuf began to ask his question again when he didn’t answer, but quickly, the Frank cut him off.

“I was going to go back to Italy,” he said reluctantly.

Yusuf nodded, “and now?”

Nicolò finally turned to look at him. “I’m not sure. We still have several weeks until we arrive at Antioch. Perhaps, we - we can determine where to go next from there.”

Yusuf nodded, accepting that answer.

He gingerly began to brush off the sand that found its way into his bedroll and began to pack up his belongings and stuff them into his satchel. He left out the fact he never had the opportunity to replenish the food in Tyre yesterday due to the Crusaders. He knew he didn’t have much, but he hoped the bandits had enough to carry him to their next town so he wouldn’t have to rely on the Frank’s food.

He had very little interest in relying on Nicolò for anything other than someone who was convenient company. 

The two of them spoke very little as they finished packing up the site. Nicolò took one of the horses and the reins of two of them while Yusuf took the reins of the last one and they headed toward Antioch. They had made a plan to sell the other three horses for food and other necessities along the road.

Yusuf was again itching to bring up all of the questions he had for the other man, but he kept his thoughts to himself. Instead, he thought about all the conversations they could have.

What he wanted to tell him. 

What he hoped Nicolò wanted to tell him.

He’d tell him he wanted to do more with their immortality, this gift they’d been given. He wasn’t able to concentrate on learning about this gift when he had to look over his shoulder all the time for the Frank.

He wanted to find out if all the things he was feeling for the Frank were reciprocated.

Was he also feeling hesitant about Yusuf?

Was he nervous about what this immortality could bring them?

Did he regret spending a century trying to kill one another?

Did he believe their purpose had to do with something divine?

If he didn’t have to waste his energy considering how to avoid death by the Frank, then perhaps he’d have energy and brain power to figure out why they were the only immortals on this earth earlier.

Or were they the only immortals?

Something else that Yusuf had been considering.

And yet, day after day the questions never left his mouth. 

Night after night, he sat across from his counterpart, who stared up at the stars as if all of this was normal. 

Their individual dinners filled their bellies and Yusuf’s head was overflowing with thoughts of this new life they were building.

He wondered how he could broach the topic of what their true purpose was now that they had stopped side tracking one another with their continuous game of cat and mouse.

He wanted to ask him his thoughts.

He wanted to ask him if he’d had strange dreams.

He wanted to ask him if he still believed in Allah or God as the Franks called him.

He didn’t think he did if he didn’t pray anymore.

And yet, Yusuf wasn’t sure how to ask him any of those things.

For so long they’d been enemies. How would they achieve something beyond that?

Did Nicolò di Genova even want to be something beyond enemies?

Did he even want a friend?

Yusuf couldn’t tell. 

The man, other than being a good fighter, was a mystery to Yusuf and he wasn’t sure what to do with that.

He tried to think of something to say to Nicolò every day, every night.

And yet, they stayed silent.

_ Ask him about his childhood or where he wanted to go next? _

_ Keep it simple. _

But the dense silence continued on between them, neither of them wanting to break it.

At night, when his thoughts ran rampant, sitting by the fire, Yusuf wondered if he’d slit his throat in his sleep. He could already envision waking up to another sword in his belly. Or when he turned his back while they rode through the desert a sword in his back. Maybe even poisoning his food, which was why he always made dinner for himself and Nicolò made his own. 

They didn’t share anything. 

Except the occasional spice if one of them was running low.

It was very much unlike any relationship Yusuf had ever had with another person.

He told himself it was a convenience to travel with Nicolò and yet, as their first week of traveling together passed and they entered the second one, he found himself having to bite his tongue to keep the questions at bay.

Finally, he decided he had to be the one to break the silence. Nicolò seemed much too content not talking and Yusuf felt as though he was slowly suffocating from the smothering stillness. 

He watched his counterpart ride through the desert on his horse. It was early in the morning; the sun was high in the sky. He could already feel the harshness of it bite at his skin.

He was cranky. Whether from his poor slumber, the heat, or just their general situation, he knew whatever came out of his mouth would probably be more prickly than he intended. 

But he couldn’t take the silence anymore.

He had another restless night as Nicolò slept soundly across the fire from him. 

He still slept with his scimitar close at hand.

He couldn’t take any chances with the Frank. 

But that wasn’t why he was sleeping so poorly lately. 

He’d been having dreams about the Crusades. Occasionally, those wartorn dreams would turn to something else entirely. There was a woman of East Asian descent and another one who looked Greek fighting. He wasn’t sure who these women were, but night after night he saw images of war burned into his brain. 

He’d wake in a cold sweat and against his better judgement his eyes would seek out Nicolò. But then the questions about Nicolò would fill his mind and he’d stay awake trying to figure out a way to get the other man to open up.

He was intrigued by Nicolò.

_ Did he feel remorse for what he did? _

_ Did he wish he never came to the Holy Land?  _

_ Did he have dreams of the people he killed? _

“Crusader, how did you sleep?” Yusuf asked. Wiping sweat from where it was gathering on his brow, he attempted to ward off the silence that sat thick between them.

Nicolò looked over at him with those blank ambiguously colored eyes and slowed his horse to match his stride. “As well as to be expected.”

It was the same answer he gave every time Yusuf asked.

Despite making their way closer and closer to their destination in Antioch, their own relationship remained stagnant.

Yusuf would even say strained based on their lack of knowing how to communicate with one another. He’d assumed that once they were over their language barrier, it would be easier. But despite his knowledge in Ligurian and Sabir, Nicolò was not a big communicator.

“I understand.”

Nicolò shot him a look and turned away quickly, but Yusuf thought he saw the smallest quirk of his lips. Yusuf could count on one hand how many times he saw Nicolò smile. But he had yet to see him  _ really _ smile, large and wide and beautiful. He couldn’t help but feel a little pleased with himself for getting the simplest upturn of his lips out of him.

Now, if only he could get him to laugh, then Yusuf would feel accomplished.

He gnawed on his lip as other questions he’d been saving began to float through his mind. 

_ What else could he ask him?  _

It was a constant question that rotated through his mind.

“Where did you learn Ligurian?” Nicolò asked quietly.

“I was a merchant once upon a time,” he paused considering if he should go on and admit that he had been attempting to learn more due to Nicolò. “I figured it would be handy to become fluent in.”

“And are you? Fluent?”

Yusuf shrugged and made a kinda motion with his hand. “Where did you learn Arabic?”

Nicolò ducked his head and Yusuf wondered for a moment if this was going to be the extent of their conversation. 

“Traveling around the Holy Land...you pick up things.”

Yusuf raised his eyebrows and switched to Arabic. The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. “You mean pillaging and raping the Holy Land, Crusader?”

Nicolò’s eyes flashed to his and for an instant, Yusuf wondered if he understood him. There was a pain present in those pale blue-grey eyes and an uncomfortable squeezing sensation formed in his chest when he saw it. He knew out of the two of them  _ he _ shouldn’t feel guilty about asking something that was truthful. And yet, seeing that pain behind Nicolò’s eyes made him want to reach out and offer a comforting hand.

He gripped the reins in his hand tighter.

“Do you want me to teach you?” The words were out of Yusuf’s mouth before he could clammer them back in and Nicolò looked at him in surprise.

“What did you say?” Nicolò asked.

“I said ‘do you want me to te--”

“Before. About Crusaders?”

Yusuf was silent for a moment as he contemplated admitting what he had said to the man. He cleared his throat and looked down at Arid before meeting the Frank’s eyes.

“That you pillaged and raped the Holy Land.”

A dark look crossed Nicolò’s eyes and he turned away from him so Yusuf couldn’t see those silvery mist eyes. He was willing to bet the pain was back in them, more prominent this time.

“You’re not wrong,” he murmured.

“No, I’m not,” Yusuf agreed.

Nicolò glanced at him and Yusuf watched as he gestured for his horse to speed up a little. For the briefest moment, Yusuf saw the tiniest insight into the secrets he hid behind those pale blue eyes. 

He was just a man who seemed as lost as Yusuf felt. 

The guilt at pushing Nicolò made that squeezing sensation in his chest move to his belly and twist itself in a knot. He wished he could take the words back, but they were the truth.

If they were going to travel together, then Nicolò should know what he did was wrong. Yusuf had no intention of letting him get away with the murder of his people. And yet, he had a feeling Nicolò knew this despite never talking about it.

Or showing remorse.

He trotted in front of Yusuf and their brief conversation was over before it had even really begun.

That left a feeling of unease in Yusuf, one he felt an urgency to repair. 

But he ignored it. 

He was just a Frank, Yusuf shouldn’t feel as if he did anything wrong. And despite the amount of times he told himself that, the feeling sat with him as the sun rose higher and higher and eventually began to descend. 

Occasionally, Yusuf would ask to take a break and lay in a small amount of shade the horse and camel allowed them. But the sun was unforgiving, burning their backs until beads of sweat ran into their eyes and blinded them. 

It was nearing sunset when he called to Nicolò who had traveled so much further in front of him he almost didn’t hear him. He had to call out three or four times before he stopped.

“Time to set up camp?” Yusuf asked meaning for it to come out as a command and not a question.

In answer, Nicolò stopped the horses, so Yusuf could catch up. There was a shady cliffed area off to their left, which they decided to head toward. Together, they began to set up camp. It would quickly become a routine for them. Setting up camp in the evenings after a long day of traveling and taking it down in the morning. Occasionally, they stayed in an inn, but it was less dangerous to keep to the elements.

Working silently and diligently, it was no time before Nicolò was tying his horse and Arid together to feed them. 

Yusuf began to start a fire so they were able to eat. They had just replenished their food in the market in a small village the day before and Yusuf was looking forward to trying a little something different for dinner. 

Every night they would take turns cooking. It was Yusuf’s turn to cook his dinner first and then Nicolò would. Yusuf figured it would make more sense if they cooked the meal together, but he still felt wary of the Frank. 

“I came here on a mission. I thought I was doing God’s work,” Nicolò said, breaking the silence.

Yusuf was so surprised by hearing his voice he nearly dropped the bag of food he’d been looking through. 

“Allah would never recommend killing thousands for him,” Yusuf said quietly once he got over the shock of Nicolò re-opening their conversation from earlier.

Nicolò stared at him, those steely eyes so cold and calm. Yusuf felt a rush of something go through him when their gazes met.

“It wasn’t for fun. I was devoted. A priest…” Nicolò cleared his throat, “I was young when I came here. I was - I thought I was on the right side.”

“And now?” Yusuf asked.

Nicolò was silent so long Yusuf wasn’t sure whether or not he’d answer the question. He began to turn away to tend to the fire, but Nicolò’s voice broke the quiet.

“The world is not black and white, Yusuf,” he said quietly.

Yusuf frowned as he took those words in. He wasn’t sure if this was Nicolò attempting to come to terms with the violence he’d done to Yusuf’s people or something else entirely. He wanted to push the subject, but he wasn’t sure how to when they had reached a tentative truce.

“Do you know how to say black in Arabic?” Yusuf asked, changing the subject.

Nicolò shook his head and looked at him patiently to hear the answer.

Yusuf told him and then began to explain basic phonetics to him on the proper pronunciation. Nicolò studiously repeated each word after him and their previous topic dropped for the time being. 

Yusuf realized as he prepared to take watch that night that this was the first time since they began traveling together that conversation flowed and the silence had been chased away. Even if it was basic linguistics, it was a step in the right direction.

* * *

Nicolò wasn’t sure what to think about Yusuf, especially as their first few days together turned into weeks and they bypassed their first month together. Sometimes he found the other man to be kind and attentive. When they went to the market together for the first time, Yusuf made sure to grab vegetables that Nicolò had specifically mentioned enjoying. He’d patiently point out things to him that were not native to Genoa. He’d even bought some spices for him because he  _ needed  _ to try them to really appreciate the dishes of the Holy Land. They didn’t cook their meals together, but that didn’t stop Yusuf from doing their shopping together. 

He even picked up a book that was in Arabic for him because he knew Nicolò wanted to become better and it was by far an easier read than the book he’d taken from the bandit.

Little by little Yusuf had been teaching him simple phrases and words that weren’t begging, pleading, and swear words. He may have started simple, but it was helpful in learning the basics of the language. 

Yusuf would laugh joyously when Nicolò butchered a particular word, but somehow he knew his companion wasn’t laughing at him, but with him. He wished he could make Yusuf laugh at other things, but he’d never been a particularly entertaining man. 

He was a man of God. 

Not of entertainment.

Not like Yusuf.

But then there were other times, like on their first day of their second week traveling together when Yusuf would pick at the still open wound that touched on Nicolò’s own guilt about coming to the Holy Land. He’d long ago accepted his past transactions. There was nothing he could do about the Crusades that came before this one. He couldn’t change the past. He was immortal not a demon. 

He couldn’t turn back time. 

But he could change what was going on now. 

He could be better now. 

He could help these people he was told were evil -  _ inhuman _ . He hoped that traveling with Yusuf would allow him to do that. 

He hoped Yusuf was interested in helping people.

But despite feeling like he’d come here with a purpose - one he realized was wrong - he couldn’t feel remorseful for arriving in the Holy Land. Because if he did, then he would never have met Yusuf. He’d still be immortal, but without Yusuf in another land. He’d still be living in that monastery probably seen as a demon because he couldn’t die. He’d have so much more self-loathing. He’d feel as lost as he had in the beginning of all of this. Except it would be exaggerated since at least he’d awoken with Yusuf and knew he suffered the same affliction as him. 

So while he knew it was wrong not to feel sorry for coming to the Holy Land with his fellow Crusaders, he couldn’t bring himself to regret coming here. He’d been alone for a very long time at least physically, but emotionally he always knew Yusuf wasn’t far away. He couldn’t imagine how it must feel to think that he was the only person who was afflicted with this strange immortality. He wouldn’t wish that feeling on anyone.

But he couldn’t tell Yusuf that. 

He didn’t think he’d understand.

How could he tell him he didn’t regret coming to the Holy Land when so many people had died because of him?

And so when Yusuf brought up the Crusades, he stayed silent. He didn’t know how to explain that traveling with Yusuf outweighed any regret he had for arriving here. He’d fight for 100 more years if it meant he was able to travel with Yusuf. He was more important to Nicolò because he made him feel less lonely, less self-loathing, less depressed.

And that realization just brought on a whole other wave of guilt because a normal  _ sane  _ person would repent for the time they had been at war. And while Nicolò knew what he had done was wrong, he accepted the path that God had put him on. 

As long as that path led to Yusuf.

He regretted what he was a part of, but if it brought him to Yusuf - to someone who shared this affliction - how could he repent?

And while Yusuf may think the Crusaders were cut and dry, good and bad, Nicolò knew some things weren’t as simple as that.

Some things were a lot more complicated than they seemed.

* * *

“Where do you want to settle down?” Yusuf asked as they set up camp for the night outside of Tripoli. 

Nicolò looked over at him as he fed his horse and Yusuf’s camel. He’d finally decided on the name Amico for the brown charger.

“You would like to settle down?” Nicolò asked curiously.

Yusuf shrugged and went back to making dinner for himself. Nicolò noticed he liked using a lot of spices in his cooking. He had seldomly gotten the chance to taste the delicious dishes he made because they didn’t share food, but they always smelled good. He wondered if they would ever get to the point where they cooked dinner for each other rather than live this separate existence.

He hoped so.

“Why not? We can find work. Perhaps make some friends. Stay away from war and death,” Yusuf muttered the last part.

Nicolò smiled slightly as he brushed Amico. It did sound nice to get away from the Crusades and the destruction it led in its path, but then would they have the opportunity to help people? 

He’d like to move further east, but he still felt tied to the land here. This was where it started, maybe he could help put an end to it. 

It’s the least he could do.

Despite the fact he had been eager to leave the land and head back toward Italy, traveling with Yusuf gave him some insight. Since they began their journey together, he realized that running away from the war he helped cause was pointless. It would be better to help the people of the land find peace. 

Perhaps, it would bring peace to Yusuf as well.

“Where were you thinking?” Nicolò asked softly.

He had been around Yusuf enough in the past month of traveling with him to understand that when he posed a question to Nicolò he usually already had his opinion formed. Much like his attitude toward the Crusaders and Nicolò, he’s already made up his mind. It was frustrating when he realized that no matter what he said or did Yusuf had already made up his mind. Nicolò wished that he wasn’t so stubborn. 

“We could go toward the land of the east? Toward Baghdad? It’s flourishing, they say,” Nicolò said when Yusuf didn’t answer him.

He glanced over at Yusuf to find him carefully cutting up the pieces of pomegranate they’d bought at the market in Tripoli earlier that day.

“Constantinople is flourishing they say too,” Yusuf responded.

Nicolò watched him continue cutting the pomegranate. He moved away from the horses and sat beside him at the fire.

“Do you want to go to Constantinople?” Nicolò asked softly.

“Do you think the Crusaders will travel that far north?” Yusuf asked, finally looking up to see him.

Nicolò stared into those warm brown eyes and considered the question. He didn’t want to lie to Yusuf, but he already looked on edge thinking about the Crusades disrupting the tentative life they were building. And yet, Nicolò wanted to stay near enough to the Crusaders to jump in and help those fighting them. He could tell from his weary eyes that Yusuf didn’t feel the same.

“Let’s go further north or east. We could take the Silk Road. There’s a city they say in--”

“And how do we know the Crusaders won’t head into the far east either?” Yusuf interrupted.

Nicolò sighed heavily and sat beside him. He wasn’t aware of what he was doing before he reached out a hand to lay it gently on Yusuf’s wrist to get him to stop cutting the red fruit. Yusuf looked up at him with trepidation and Nicolò gave him a soft smile.

“We have seen much of the world of war by now, Yusuf. It’s not going away. If we spend our entire long lives running from it, then we’ll miss the little things too. It’s okay to be afraid--”

“I’m not afraid.”

“I think staying near the Crusaders would help us right the wrongs--”

“You mean right  _ your _ wrongs.”

A heavy silence sat between them.

Nicolò felt a wave of frustration crash over him. He knew Yusuf was entitled to his opinion, but he wasn’t sure what to do when he became argumentative. Nicolò had never been enthusiastic about confronting someone. He had always wanted to keep the peace.

So for now, he decided to stay silent and watch as Yusuf nearly glared down at him, distrust radiating from those warm brown eyes.

“If we continue traveling, looking for whatever it is we think we’ll find, then we won’t be living. We’ll just be existing. If the Crusaders or another war comes along, we’ll fight it. Defend what we believe is right,” Nicolò muttered.

Yusuf looked away from him and out into the inky blackness surrounding them. Nicolò dropped his hand away from his wrist and moved to go back to brushing the dust and sand from the horse’s fur. He didn’t get very far before Yusuf stopped him.

“And what do we believe is right?”

Nicolò glanced at him and then down at the hand he had been moments ago touching. He tried not to think about how soft his skin was beneath his fingers.

“Do you really want to talk now?” Nicolò asked.

Yusuf raised his eyebrows at him in response and tilted his head as if to say he dared him to make the first move.

Nicolò huffed and put the brush down. He turned to face Yusuf and made sure to look him directly in the eye.

“I’m sorry. There’s nothing I can do about the past. But you can--”

“I don’t have to do anything. It’s  _ your _ people that--”

“My people!  _ My _ people! If you haven’t noticed, I’m not a Crusader anymore.”

“You’ll always be a Crusader in my eyes!”

Nicolò glared at him as his words rang through his ears. Echoing off the rocks that surrounded their little campsite. The statement dug its way into Nicolò’s heart. 

“Will you ever learn to trust?” Nicolò asked, trying to keep his voice even. He wasn’t sure if he was asking Yusuf that question or himself.

Yusuf snorted and turned away from him, “trust you? Trust you? I don’t even know you. You could stab me in my sleep or poison me--”

“So that’s why you refuse to let me cook,” Nicolò said with a humorless laugh.

When Yusuf didn’t respond, Nicolò sighed and took a step back from him. “What are we even doing here?”

“Traveling.”

“And then what? What’s the plan? Are we just going to wander the desert for the rest of our lives? However long that is? Are we going to continue hating each other until one of us finally dies? Are we--”

“I don’t hate you,” Yusuf muttered ducking his head as if he was ashamed that he didn’t.

Nicolò regarded him silently, waiting for him to say more. However, he didn’t expand, so Nicolò decided to give him a little push.

“I don’t hate you either.”

Yusuf looked up at him and Nicolò could clearly see the shock here.

“You don’t?”

Nicolò shook his head and then looked toward Arid and Amico. The horse and the camel eating together and drinking together… He felt sad at the sight. These two animals that were different species had found a common ground.

Why couldn’t they?

“Perhaps...perhaps it would be best if we left this land. Escaped from the past,” Nicolò whispered, turning to look at Yusuf.

Yusuf’s eyes darted across his face and then he gave a solemn nod.

“Let’s go east. On the Silk Road. Maybe - Maybe we’ll find the answers we’re looking for,” Nicolò took a deep breath in and then slowly let it out. “It might be best.”

Yusuf continued to watch him. He opened his mouth, but closed it before he could let a sound escape.

He wasn’t sure what was east. If there was even anything there. But if that’s where Yusuf wanted to go, then Nicolò was all for it. Instead of taking a ship at Antioch, they’d head east and toward a world that was as new as the tentative friendship they were forming. If they could even call it a friendship. It was probably more of a truce.

* * *

Yusuf had been looking forward to traveling with a companion - anyone - for years now, but he realized as he and Nicolò continued to journey through the hot desert that perhaps it would’ve been better if they had never teamed up.

Perhaps this journey of immortality was better alone.

He was tired of war and death and blood. Lately, his nightmares had been getting worse. He was usually a pretty optimistic and upbeat man, but since he’d started traveling with the Frank, he had been having nightmares that caused him to wake up in a cold sweat. He didn’t really think it was the Frank’s presence that had caused his insomnia. 

It had happened much earlier than before he was traveling with Nicolò. But they seemed to have gotten worse since they started traveling together. Yusuf thought it was because he didn’t trust the other man. He wasn’t sure what to make of those sea glass eyes, that pale skin, his quiet demeanor. 

He once read that it’s only after a person has entered comfort did they truly understand the woes and terrors they dealt with to finally reach contentment. 

Yusuf wondered if this is what this was. He’d finally reached a point where he wasn’t running, killing, dying, and now those feelings from the last 100 years were finally catching up to him. 

Perhaps because he was finally able to rest, at least knowing someone else was watching over him during their sleep shifts, despite not trusting him, he was finally able to truly see everything he’d had to do to survive. 

He was a talker. 

But he noticed his companion was not. 

He wanted to talk about what they had done to each other, what they’d seen, what they’d had to do, and yet Nicolò didn’t seem to want to bring up the Crusades. 

Or maybe he was struggling with it just as much as Yusuf, but in his own way.

A few nights after they decided to go to the far east during their Arabic lesson, Yusuf decided to bring it up again. Nicolò was in the middle of attempting to pronounce the word for ‘market’ when Yusuf interrupted him.

“Do you dream about it?”

Nicolò stared blankly at him and Yusuf sighed heavily, wishing that Nicolò understood him better.

“The war.”

“I...yes, I do,” Nicolò said finally.

Yusuf turned away from him and looked into the blackness that surrounded them. “I don’t - I don’t know how to…” he trailed off unable to finish his thought in Ligurian. He wished that Nicolò could get better at Arabic faster, but even then he wasn’t sure if he’d understand what he was trying to say.

“I understand,” Nicolò said quietly.

Yusuf gave him a look of disbelief, but he could see in Nicolò’s eyes that he very much believed it. Nicolò may not have been on Yusuf’s side and may not have seen everything that he saw, but they did both see war. 

They saw bloodshed. 

They saw their brothers murdered.

He realized with a swooping in his stomach that Nicolò did understand him better than he thought.

“I worry that the images will…” Yusuf made a motion with his hands that he hoped Nicolò would understand meant stick together.

Nicolò nodded and made the same gesture and then pointed at his head. 

“How do you get over it?” Yusuf asked softly.

Nicolò gave him a sad smile, “you don’t, I think. You just learn how to live with it.”

Yusuf turned away from him and let out a loud sigh. He stood up suddenly and walked around their campsite further into the darkness. He could feel Nicolò’s eyes on him and suddenly he felt the need to be away from those cold orbs.

“I’m going to go for a walk,” Yusuf said without looking toward him.

Nicolò didn’t say anything as he took off into the darkness, the need to be alone weighing heavily on him.

* * *

When Yusuf came back to the campsite, Nicolò was still awake, but attempting to read the Arabic book he’d gotten for him at the market their first week. Yusuf nodded to him as he returned and took his post near his bedroll.

“You can sleep, I can watch,” Yusuf said.

Nicolò shook his head, “you sleep.”

Yusuf nodded, unwilling to argue with him. He was tired, much as he had been a lot lately. It didn’t take him long to drift off to sleep, but just as quickly his thoughts were plagued by bloodshed and dead bodies. He dreamed of being back on the battlefield in Jerusalem, his friend Abdul laying dead in his arms as the fight continued around him. It was the first death he’d witnessed so close to him on that first day of battle. He’d expected Abdul to say something meaningful in his dying breath but all he muttered was ‘blue’ and then stopped breathing. Yusuf always wondered what it meant, if it meant anything. He looked up from Abdul’s empty face to see an axe headed right for him.

He woke with a jolt, taking in deep unsettled breaths as he came back to the present. He looked toward Nicolò who had moved closer to him and had a hand reached out toward him as if to wake him up.

“What?” Yusuf snapped much harsher than he’d meant.

Nicolò drew his hand back and looked at him with those pale blue-grey eyes. They seemed to come even more to life with the fire reflecting in them, making them look otherworldly.

“You were screaming,” Nicolò said gently.

Yusuf ducked his head and brought a hand to his face, he was surprised to find it was wet. He felt a gentle pressure on his shoulder and looked up to see Nicolò looking at him with an open expression. He wasn’t exactly sure of the emotions playing across Nicolò’s face, but he identified concern and compassion there. 

It sent a jolt to his heart. 

Not for the first time, he felt guilty at pushing the other man away when he wanted to help him. 

He whipped a hand across his face and took in a shaky breath.

“What were you dreaming about? Tell me,” Nicolò requested.

Yusuf looked up and into those ethereal eyes before quickly ducking his head, afraid of what Nicolò would see there.

“I - I saw war. Death. Blood. My...my friend - he, uh, he died,” Yusuf choked out eventually.

Nicolò was quiet and Yusuf almost expected him to say some other cryptic unhelpful response, but instead, he rested his hand on his shoulder and rubbed his thumb in an almost soothing motion. Yusuf didn’t realize he was leaning into it until he stiffened upon the realization.

“Tell me about your friend,” Nicolò said, pulling away from him.

Yusuf felt cold whether from the question or Nicolò pulling away, but he did as he asked. He began to tell him about Abdul. How they had met at training camp and continued through the First Crusade together. How he really enjoyed poetry and acting. He had dreams of seeing the world of traveling to Greece.

He didn’t realize he drifted off talking until the next morning when he awoke. 

As they packed up their campsite, he turned toward Nicolò who had been his usual quiet self all morning.

“Thank you, Nicolò,” Yusuf said, making himself look into his eyes.

Nicolò bowed his head slightly to him and nodded.

For the first time since they started traveling together, Yusuf was thankful Nicolò didn’t say anything. 

He had spent many weeks thinking that it was better to travel alone, but having Nicolò here with him, well, he realized he wouldn’t trade him for anyone else in the world. He was thankful it was Nicolò with him and not someone else. 

Nicolò didn’t offer him comfort or words of wisdom. He didn’t take pity on him or laugh at him for having nightmares. He didn’t judge him or even pretend it was all normal. 

Instead, he offered him an ear and patience.

He realized as he readied the horses that perhaps Nicolò wasn’t quiet because he was too prideful, but he was trying to be respectful.

He was trying to give him privacy.

He was helping in his own way.

It left him feeling as if his world had been shaken and stirred.

* * *

As they moved from one month to two, Yusuf made no mention of his restless sleep and was thankful that neither did his companion. Instead, he kept the conversation light, focusing on helping Nicolò learn more Arabic. Sometimes he asked Nicolò about his family, to which he gave short responses.

Yusuf noticed he didn’t talk much about his family and that just became another part of the curiosity he had about Nicolo.

Occasionally, Yusuf would ask him things about Italy, which he’d respond to with enthusiasm and delight.

Rarely, Yusuf asked him the questions he wanted to so badly. Once he asked him why he thought they couldn’t die. It was the dead of night as Yusuf kept watch over the camp and Nicolò tried to sleep.

He could tell that he was awake because his breathing hadn’t deepened and so because Yusuf had wanted to ask the question for awhile now, he finally did.

“What do you think we did to deserve this gift?” he asked quietly.

“What gift?” Nicolò whispered back.

“Immortality.”

Nicolò was silent for such a long time Yusuf thought he’d finally drifted off. But then he heard a rustling and Nicolò cleared his throat.

“I wonder often what I did to receive God’s wrath.”

Yusuf looked down at him, seeking those pale eyes out even in the darkness. Nicolò stared over at him and Yusuf felt the hairs on his arm stand up.

“Do you think there are other people out there like us?” Yusuf asked softly.

In the darkness, he saw Nicolò’s lips curl up slightly and then he turned back onto his back as if he had no desire to dig deeper into their conversation.

“I hope not for their sake,” Nicolò whispered.

Yusuf watched until he fell asleep.

He made a mental note to wait until he brought up his questions again.

It was easier to ask questions that didn’t make Nicolò look at him as if he could see right through him. To what he was really asking.

_ Are we being punished? _

_ Will we be stuck with each other forever? _

_ Is this our destiny? _

It was as they neared Babylon when Yusuf realized that he actually didn’t mind Nicolò’s company. Sure he was much too quiet for Yusuf. He didn’t get all of Yusuf’s jokes. And sometimes he said the wrong thing.

But he found the more time they spent together, the easier it was to let his guard down. He noticed the little things that before he had assumed were pride or nonchalance. 

Like when Nicolò ducked his head or didn’t meet his eye, he wasn’t being rude or ignoring him, he was just shy. When he didn’t immediately answer Yusuf’s questions, it was because he was thinking of the best way to answer them to give him the most thorough response instead of saying whatever was at the top of his mind. And when he smiled, he wasn’t just being polite, he honestly enjoyed whatever it was Yusuf said.

But he had yet to get him to let out a raw, belly-shaking laugh. And that was something Yusuf wanted to see. He wanted his companion to let go, just a little. He’d been gifted with small smiles and the occasional smirk, but Yusuf was eager to hear what Nicolò’s laugh sounded like.

He didn’t anticipate spending the rest of his days on earth wandering around with Nicolò, but he found that for now, it wasn’t so bad.

Nicolò wasn’t as daring as Yusuf, but he did get them out of trouble with quick thinking on his feet. 

He was always willing to stop and help someone they met while on their travels. And while people were hesitant because he was a Frank, Yusuf noticed he never held that against them. He was patient, kind, and despite the fact he sometimes saw him grit his teeth in what Yusuf could only assume was frustration or irritation, he never lashed out.

Even though Yusuf knew he probably deserved it sometimes. He knew he wasn’t at his best. He’d barely been sleeping. They were running low on food. And he was tired sleeping outside and under the stars. 

He missed the luxuries he had in his previous life. 

They had a bit of money between them, but they were running low on supplies and funds. Yusuf knew they would need to work a job or exchange work for food soon. 

As they passed through town after town, he kept his ears open for any availability that could help them make some money. But every time he inquired about something and they found out he was traveling with a Frank, he was quickly told they weren’t interested. He didn’t tell Nicolò about this. It seemed like something he should keep from the other man.

He didn’t want to see his ethereal eyes turn downtrodden.

Especially when Yusuf was constantly trying to get him to smile.

Ever since that night he’d woken up from his nightmare and Nicolò stayed up with him, he tried to go out of his way for him. 

To be kinder. 

He hadn’t been rude before, but he knew he wasn’t exactly forgiving. He’d picked at clearly open wounds, asking about his time as a Crusader.

He didn’t really only see Nicolò as a Crusader.

Perhaps that’s how they started, but it had been sometime since he’d seen his companion as a murderer.

Instead, he secretly thought of him as possibly a friend.

Not a close one, but someone he was beginning to - dare he say -  _ trust _ .

Every time he asked those questions, he’d watch before his eyes Nicolò shut down. He’d physically turn away from him and mutter about wanting to go on a walk. 

Yusuf wasn’t doing it to be mean, but he was genuinely interested to know more about Nicolò. He wanted to know his thoughts, his hopes, his dreams, how he felt. 

He’d always pushed people too far, until they tired of his questions and lost interest in Yusuf. He didn’t want Nicolò to lose interest in him, but he was such an enigma, Yusuf had to know more.

It was difficult to tell what was going on behind those ethereal eyes. Sometimes, he thought he’d figure him out, but then he’d quirk his lips at something Yusuf hadn’t even thought he understood. Or other times, he seemed to sense that Yusuf needed a moment and would never push him.

He gave him space.

He was a patient man.

What Yusuf had noticed while traveling was that unlike himself who prayed the required five times a day, Nicolò didn’t. He wasn’t sure if that was because of the Crusades or due to something else entirely.

It was another question he sought to ask the Frank.

It started on their way to Antioch that he attempted to go out of his way for Nicolò. As a thank you for staying with him, for helping him, for putting up with him. He’d picked up some of the vegetables and fruits that Nicolò liked. He’d bought a few new spices for him to try. He’d found a little book stall where he picked him up a few items to help him with his Arabic. He even picked up some of the desserts that Nicolò had stolen from him and he knew he liked. 

He wasn’t the type to hold a grudge for long.

And he was eager for Nicolò to open up a little more to him. 

The questions he asked of Nicolò that seemed to make him uncomfortable weren’t even from a desire to be argumentative or hostile.

Instead, he was interested in how Nicolò found solace when Yusuf couldn’t erase the images of war through his head. He found himself thinking about the dead bodies of his friends while they traveled. Before he closed his eyes every night, he whispered a prayer to Allah to let him sleep soundlessly.

And yet, here was his enemy who slept peacefully and never harbored any ill will toward him. He was quiet most of the time. Stared off pensively while they traveled, which unnerved Yusuf, but for the most part, he was the most introspective and kind man Yusuf ever met. 

He hadn’t been expecting that when they started this journey.

When they traveled, Nicolò would stop and help everyone. Whether the person had a broken wheel on their wagon or there was a sick animal who needed to be cared for, Nicolò stopped. They’d helped men, women, children, once a rooster. From broken tools to giving food to starving children, Nicolò wanted to save them all.

And Yusuf greatly admired that.

He would watch in awe as Nicolò gave them the rest of his food to feed a family who hadn’t eaten in days. He’d allow himself to go without food to help others. 

And Yusuf would share his own food with Nicolò when he gave the last crumbs away. Yusuf was beginning to cook little things for him little by little, as a thank you. He wanted to do something nice for the other man and he knew food was always a welcome treat.

He remembered his mother telling him that if he wasn’t sure how to thank someone, then share your food with them. It was the pathway to the heart.

As the weeks passed, Yusuf found himself thinking that Nicolò wasn’t so bad. It was getting harder and harder to think he didn’t feel anything toward the people he had murdered. But he didn’t let those feelings cloud his judgement.

He was still living, unlike Yusuf.

Yusuf wanted to know how he did it - forgot about what he did. 

But at the same time, Yusuf wondered if perhaps there was something wrong with him that he was unable to push away all the violence. Perhaps everyone else was fine with their past actions and Yusuf was a weak soul?

Finally after weeks of wondering, Yusuf finally broke down and asked him.

“Do you see the people you killed?”

* * *

Nicolò noticed Yusuf hadn’t been sleeping. He knew this because  _ he _ hadn’t been sleeping. But it was easier to keep watch over Yusuf and the campsite rather than think about what kept him up at night. On a few occasions, Nicolò had wanted to reach over and shake him awake, but he wasn’t sure if that would be overstepping his bounds. Instead, he’d put a comforting hand on the other man’s shoulder and watch over him until the crease in his brow smoothed out again.

Nicolò wanted to ask him about his dreams, but again, he was nervous about overstepping his bounds.

Yusuf, he noticed, wasn't someone Nicolò expected. During his time at the monastery, he was quick to notice things about people and understand their motives.

Yusuf was so different to anyone he’d ever met. And he didn’t think it was because they were from different lands. 

He thought there was more going on inside of Yusuf than he wanted others to know. Nicolò would catch him staring out into the dark desert at night instead of sketching in his notebook. 

He’d wonder what had captured his thoughts so intensely. 

When they were in the villages or towns they passed, Yusuf always made friends much easier than Nicolò had ever seen someone make. He always had a joke ready to make someone laugh. 

A remark was usually on the tip of his tongue. A twinkle in his eye when Nicolò finally got something in Arabic or when he wanted to share a quip with him. He’d go out of his way to share his culture with him, patiently explaining this and that. And he told such invigorating stories in a manner that left Nicolò envious that he was unable to entertain the way Yusuf could.

And yet, sometimes he found him so lost in his thoughts that Nicolò feared he’d never smile again.

He worried that Yusuf wouldn’t look over at him with a quirk of his lips and a sparkle in those warm brown eyes.

He’d begun to notice his generosity more prominently when he religiously bought him books to help him read. Every town they stopped in, when Nicolò was finished with a book, Yusuf would make sure to pick him up another one. He always had at least two books at a given time. The first one he’d gotten from the bandit, which he still couldn’t read. And the second one, which always rotated out with whatever Yusuf picked up for him.

He always made sure to pick up the necessities in the market knowing Nicolò wasn’t comfortable around all of those people and bought items he enjoyed too. Nicolò had also noticed that while they were still cooking separate dinners, Yusuf would make a little extra and invite him to try it. Once, he’d tried to make one of the sweet treats he’d found he enjoyed. And while it didn’t work out quite the way they’d wished due to their limited resources, Nicolò had been thankful for the effort.

While shopping one day, Nicolò had mentioned liking a painting, but was unable to take it with them and Yusuf had drawn something similar that night for him.

Nicolò had never met a man with a bigger heart.

And it made Nicolò feel guilty that he couldn’t be a just man like Yusuf.

So when Yusuf asked, “do you see the people you killed?”

Nicolò knew that he couldn’t hold back his answer.

He wanted to be honest with his companion who had warmed to him, even when Nicolò was having a hard time opening up to him despite traveling together for a few months.

“I do,” Nicolò muttered, ducking his head in discomfort.

He could feel Yusuf’s eyes on him as he answered and before he could ask a follow up question Nicolò gestured to the horizon.

“But we’re here, we go on. They do not,” he said.

He heard Yusuf shift on his camel, coming a bit closer to fall into step with Nicolò.

“You do not feel remorse?” 

Nicolò wanted to laugh at the question. It was one Yusuf had asked him before in a roundabout manner. He always knew it was on the tip of his tongue, wanting to know if he regretted his actions. 

He had never asked him point blank if he felt remorse, until now. 

Instead, he glanced over at Yusuf and saw the twisted expression on his face. A mix of guilt, exhaustion, and frustration. He wasn’t asking to make Nicolò uncomfortable he realized, he was asking because he genuinely wasn’t sure how to deal with the images he still saw.

He gave him a sad smile and dug his heels in his horse to hurry along.

“What good does remorse do for me? I am not a demon. I cannot go back and change the past. All I can be is better,” Nicolò said without turning back to look at Yusuf. 

He heard him grunt and mutter something in Arabic that he couldn’t understand. 

They rode on in silence until Nicolò asked for them to stop under some shade from a grouping of cacti. They took a long drink from their water skins. Nicolò contemplated bringing back their conversation, a desire to comfort Yusuf weighing heavily on his chest.

“What do you like to do?” Nicolò asked.

Yusuf glanced at him, his eyes hard like they always got when he asked Nicolò a question about the Crusades. As if he were stealing himself from whatever answer Nicolò gave him.

“I like drawing...poetry...taking walks…” Yusuf gave him a grim smile, “cooking.”

Nicolò smiled slightly, “I like poetry too.”

Yusuf stared at him, his brow furrowed as if he were trying to make sense of what Nicolò was asking of him.

“I’ve always enjoyed reading. It - it helps. I can be in another time and place. A simpler time. A better place,” Nicolò said glancing over at him.

He watched as Yusuf’s brow began to smooth itself out and then nodded a soft smile forming there.

“What do you like to read?” 

“Anything.”

“I supposed I should’ve guessed that by now,” Yusuf murmured.

“I like the books you bring me,” he admitted.

They looked at each other for a long minute until Yusuf looked away toward the hazy horizon.

“So I should - how do you say - pretend it doesn’t affect me so? That’s what you do, Nicolò?”

Nicolò shrugged and began to climb back on his horse.

“It affects me, Yusuf, I never said it didn’t.”

He could feel Yusuf’s eyes on him and he hesitantly looked up at him. 

Yusuf’s lips quirked upward and he nodded as he began to mount his camel. It was silent as they both prepared to continue forward when Yusuf broke the silence.

“Do you think it’ll eventually stop?”

“I think that it helps to remind us of where we came from, of what we’ve done, so we can be better. It shapes us,” Nicolò said softly.

Yusuf hmmed at that, but didn’t say anything else.

“I think it’ll get easier. Nothing lasts forever,” Nicolò said, the strange desire to attempt to make Yusuf feel better settling in his stomach comfortably. As if it were making a home there.

Yusuf glanced over at him and grinned. His charismatic demeanor already coming back to life, “you do not think we’ll last forever?”

Nicolò shrugged, “I think that for now our destiny is to--”

“Destiny?”

“Fate, however, you call it.”

“What about it?”

“I believe, we - I mean, if I had to be alone - I would not - I would not want that for either of us,” Nicolò stumbled over his words, despite speaking in Ligurian.

“You believe we were meant to find each other?” Yusuf asked curiously.

Nicolò glanced at him, wandering how much further he should open himself to his companion. 

“What other explanation is there?”

Yusuf grinned with a twinkle in his eye, “perhaps there is no Allah at all? Have you considered that?”

“You pray every day.”

“And nothing has changed.”

“I disagree. Everything has changed,” Nicolò said softly.

Yusuf looked over at him as if waiting for him to go on, but Nicolò ducked his head and looked out in front of him. 

“Do you write poetry, Nicolò?”

Looking at him in surprise, Nicolò shook his head, “no. I’m not good with words.” Looking over at Yusuf, he expected to find him nod in agreement, but instead, he found him looking at him curiously as if he’d just seen him in a different light.

“I disagree.”

Nicolò raised his eyebrows at him, too shocked to know how to respond.

Yusuf began to go a little faster, bypassing him so they weren’t riding side by side. He watched his companion continue forward and he realized as his words sunk in that perhaps they had finally reached common ground. 

They were both plagued by dreams of the Crusades. 

They both had demons they couldn’t shake. 

They both were struggling to figure out how to live when they couldn’t die.

But they didn’t have to suffer alone. 

Now they had each other.


	3. 1220

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yusuf and Nicolò solidify their friendship and blunder their way through a misunderstanding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has taken the time to read this little story. I appreciate the comments, bookmarks, and the kudoes. And to everyone who just wanted to read the story! 
> 
> It's been a lot of fun to write! And I am glad people are enjoying it. Here's the next chapter. More notes below. I didn't want to ruin anything.

_So serious and yet so playful_

_A secret behind your cerulean eyes_

_Or do I see silver?_

_Dare I say, viridescent?_

_Smooth skin that sings to me_

_I wish I had the courage to reach forward_

_I swear upon the heavens that I will speak to you_

_You quicken my heartbeat with one word_

_I wish you were mine_

~~_As the sun reflects off your fiery_ ~~

_For all of eternity_

Yusuf tilted his head as he read over the poem he’d written on the back of his most recent drawing. It was still missing something, but he wasn’t sure what... Should he add ‘together’ on the last line? Or run with the second to last line he had just crossed out? He could add ‘As the sun reflects off your serious eyes, I yearn to take your face in my hands.’

He sighed heavily as he tapped the small piece of charcoal he’d been using on the parchment.

It would be best if he used ink and a quill, but he didn’t like carrying ink with him when it could spill in his bag and soak his drawings. 

Writing on the back of his drawings felt like a waste of the precious charcoal, but sometimes he had little choice when they were scarce on funds and therefore couldn’t buy tools for drawing or writing.

Nicolò and him were attempting to save up as much money as they were able to while they were offered work. 

Which meant that things he enjoyed like ink, parchment, and even charcoal were luxuries that they couldn’t afford.

They had found work in a little textile shop of an elderly widower named Ahmad Zamani. Ahmad had three children and 12 grandchildren. At 55 years of age, he declared he was too old to work and needed someone to run the store for him. 

They had met him while at the market on their first evening in the City of Merv. Yusuf had engaged him in conversation and then he offered them a job, much to both of their surprise. It was the first good luck they had, had in many years after being turned away again and again for various reasons.

Most of the time, Yusuf assumed it was because he was traveling with a Frank, but he was unwilling to leave Nicolò because people only saw what they wanted to. He figured if they were in Europe, he’d face the same discrimination, but since they had began traveling together, they had moved further east instead of going west. He found that here, people didn’t hate Nicolò because of his pale skin and ethereal eyes, they were afraid of him. 

Afraid of what he represented. 

Afraid of what his being here might bring. 

The Crusades continued to rage on in the Holy Land and despite being kilometers away, there was still the threat of violence in the air.

Yusuf couldn’t blame them, but his blood still boiled when he saw someone treat his friend in such a way while Nicolò did nothing to deserve it.

Which was why it was so refreshing to meet Ahmad who didn’t care what they looked like as long as they were respectful and helped him. It made settling in Merv much more pleasant than either of them had anticipated.

He had worried that Nicolò would not feel at home in a place that was so foriegn, but he had surprised him. 

The libraries in Merv were world renowned and catered to many historians in the east. When Nicolò wasn’t working, Yusuf could usually find him in one of the beautiful libraries, engaging in philosophical conversations with historians in his choppy Arabic. The architecture of the city was elegant and on many occasions, Yusuf and Nicolò would wander the streets and spend time in areas they quickly deemed their own.

Yusuf’s favorite place to come and write or draw was a small park that was near the market, so he could stop on his way home and pick up something to make for dinner. 

He had finally broken down when they settled in Merv to begin cooking for Nicolò after a particularly uncomfortable incident when Ahmad had invited himself over for dinner with his children and grandchildren. Nicolò had wanted to make something, but Yusuf had pushed him out of the kitchen and from that point on, he was designated to cook.

Most of the time.

Nicolò had other skills, like repairing the little things around their house and charming the little old ladies that came around their abode who wanted to fix one of them up with their daughters. Nicolò had a knack for patiently listening to them, entertaining them, and then sending them on their way without leaving them with empty promises of meeting their daughters or granddaughters.

Yusuf also noticed that while he may feel more comfortable in the kitchen, Nicolò was an excellent baker. On occasion, he would bake them pastries and breads for their morning meal.

Waking up to the sweet smells of sweet delicacies were one of his favorite ways to greet the day.

Especially when he looked over to their little cooking area near the fireplace and saw the concentrated expression on Nicolò’s face to create perfection in every bite of pastry or bread.

It never ceased to make him smile.

Nicolò didn’t just help out around the house or during meal times either. When they had first started traveling together, Yusuf had noticed how level headed and calm he always was, even when they were faced with a harrowing situation.

While Yusuf always had his head in the clouds day dreaming of a new drawing or a poem he wanted to write, Nicolò kept him grounded. He was the one who kept them focused and organized, especially in the textile shop. Math was never Yusuf’s strong suit, but Nicolò made it all look so easy.

But then again, he made lots of things look easy.

He made running a shop seem so simple, especially when Yusuf often grew bored since they were stuck inside.

He’d made a comment to Nicolò the other night that he hoped they could work outside for their next job. Perhaps be a guard in a royal palace or protect travelers while crossing the Silk Road, something a bit more engaging.

Nicolò would just smile, nod, and say, “as long as we are together, I am fine, Yusuf.”

And Yusuf would smile back, flashing his white teeth until Nicolò looked away.

While traveling along the Silk Road, they had decided to stop in Merv. Located in Khurasan, Yusuf enjoyed the mixing of cultures. Nicolò seemed to find contentment anywhere they traveled, which was a relief since Yusuf had been hesitant that he would never seem quite at home.

But he had surprised him.

Something Yusuf noticed again and again.

After a short deliberation and their fortunate run-in with Ahmad, they decided to settle down. 

They had found a little hut on the edge of the city. It was small with only a large room and a fireplace, but they had made it theirs. Gorgeous pieces of furniture Nicolò fixed up and placed delicately around their home and pieces of artwork that Yusuf had acquired in various ways became permanent fixtures in the little hut.

They didn’t have much space, so they had opted for one large bed that they shared, which wasn’t strange for the time. 

In the beginning, Yusuf had felt a little uncomfortable sharing his bed with Nicolò, but they had kept to their sides of the bed. Quickly, it had become normal for the both of them to sleep as close as they did. Sometimes Yusuf would wake up to Nicolò’s warm feet pressed against his calves and he’d greet the day a bit more cheerful than usual. 

They both had little tables by the bed that Nicolò had made from a fallen tree with piles of books, drawings, and Yusuf’s notebook that sat on the surfaces. 

They’d even made a few friends with the neighbors and every so often watched over Ahmad’s grandchildren when the parents wanted a night out with their friends.

Yusuf found himself settling easily into this little life they had built. It was easy to forget everything else for a while as the years passed in Merv.

It was far enough from the Fifth Crusade that the chaos was seldom discussed. Although from what Yusuf had heard (and he did keep an ear out for what was happening in the Holy Land) this was hopefully nearing the end. 

He was glad they had left when they had, but even here in this beautiful and peaceful place he and Nicolò had settled into, it was said a warrior by the name of Gengis Khan was growing rampantly strong. 

But for now, it was a simple life. 

One that he wanted to continue with Nicolò. 

One that he had found himself longing to last forever.

And while he knew that things couldn’t continue as they were, people would notice that they didn’t age. It was the calmest he’d felt in a long time.

He still had the dreams of the Crusades and the ones of the Greek and Eastern women, but he was able to sleep more soundly.

Yusuf wondered if having Nicolò so close helped.

If having a friend to rely on was exactly what he needed to push away the darkness that had settled in the deepest recesses of his heart and mind, then he’d spend every last minute of his years on this earth thanking Nicolò for giving him the strength to continue on.

Packing up his writing and drawing tools, Yusuf read over his poem again. Satisfied for now, he stretched as he stood up. Yawning widely, he ran a hand through his hair before slinging his bag over his shoulder and making his way to the market.

Thoughts of talking Nicolò into baking some bread for breakfast tomorrow and perhaps those little pastries he loved so much entered his mind. He considered what he could offer Nicolò to talk him into it.

As he neared the market, he began to move around the stalls, stopping at the ones where he needed to pick up items for dinner, saying ‘hello’ to those he knew, and giving a head nod to those he didn’t. He was nearing the end of the first row near the open space in the center of the market when he noticed a gathering of people.

“What’s going on?” he asked a woman at the last stall.

“A storyteller. He’s journeying on the Silk Road. Thought he’d entertain for some coin,” she said.

He took his purchase of squash and beans from her. Carefully tucking it into his bag, he headed over to the entertainer. The man was short with thin black hair and a wide grin as he enchanted the people around him with his tale. He was on the older side, but was still spry as he moved around the little circle and regaled them with tales of far off lands.

“...do you want to hear another?” he asked as Yusuf came over.

“Yes!” The small children in front of Yusuf cried. 

The adults that stood next to Yusuf laughed and tossed a few coins his way, so he would continue. Yusuf assumed they were parents of the small children and probably thought that if they could hear a story from him, then tonight, sleep would come sooner. 

Yusuf waited for the storyteller to begin his tale, interested to hear what he would come up with for entertainment.

“This is a tale of love and friendship. Of misunderstanding and pining. Of desire and youth!” The man began, spinning in a circle to make eye contact with each of the audience members. “There was once a boy, no older than you, my friend, who dreamed of being a great man and doing great things,” the man began pointing to one of the children. 

He cleared his throat and began to spin his tale. 

Goosebumps prickled across his skin as the man spoke. Yusuf felt the story travel through his body and settle in his bones. He somehow knew that this was going to be more than an entertaining tale to acquire some quick coin.

“His father told him that if he was going to be a great man, he would need to have a great wife beside him. But he had no desire to marry, he was young and such things didn’t interest him. You know, behind every great man there is a greater woman. And so he began looking for someone he deemed worthy enough to marry. 

At the market one day, while picking up food for his family, he met a man, a wise old man who claimed to know his future. 

When he asked the wise man if he’d marry a beautiful woman, he laughed and looked out toward the market. He pointed out a skinny, poor, ordinary girl who was with a blind woman and said, ‘there! That is the woman whom you will marry. The one with the red thread around her wrist,’” the man’s eyes landed on Yusuf and he winked at him. 

Yusuf felt a strange dip in his belly when his eyes met the old man’s. For a moment, he felt as if he was watching himself transfixed by the storyteller. He fisted his hands, digging his fingernails into his palms until pain radiated from the injury and he became more present in the moment. 

“The boy did not like this at all. He went over to the girl and tried to strike up a conversation with her to see if the man was right. But the girl was too shy and couldn’t get out a sentence, intimidated by the young man. 

Being young, he didn’t understand her hesitation. He mistook it for pride and aloofness. So the boy lashed out. Pushing her into a stall of vegetables, she caused a scene, angering the people around her and knocking over her elderly grandmother. The boy didn’t wait around to see what happened and took off.”

Yusuf watched as the man moved around the circle enthralling the crowd with this tale. It wasn’t the first time Yusuf had heard a story such as this, but it was the first time that he felt as if the man was speaking right to him. Like the story meant more than the words he was throwing to the wind. Like the man was telling him a riddle that he had yet to figure out.

“Many years later, the boy had grown into a man and was due to be married. A beautiful, rich woman had caught his eye in the market. He’d been enamored with the long locks she wore to the side that hid half of her face. He liked the mystery she presented to him. He’d caught one glimpse of her and asked for her hand in marriage right there. 

It was on their wedding night, when she took out the red thread that held her hair back from her face that he saw a scar long, white, and pale glittering in the fire. He asked, ‘my wife, what has happened here?’ and so she told him of being a shy young girl who had been pushed into a fruit stall when she was young by a boy. The man felt ice flow through his veins as he realized that this woman was the same girl with the old woman from the market. 

He asked, ‘my wife, were you with an elderly woman?’ She nodded, ‘my grandmother. She died shortly after from the injuries she sustained and I was left to be raised by my aunt and uncle. They have helped me become who you see before you.’ The man wasn’t sure whether to tell her that he was that boy. But he had learned to love this woman and he didn’t want to hold any secrets back from her. 

He decided to tell her the truth. 

At first, she was confused, angry, but finally, she accepted that perhaps this was fate. Destiny. They were always supposed to end up together. From enemies to lovers, this was their destined path. To walk the earth together.” 

The man took a bow at the end of his story and polite applause followed.

Yusuf stood there. Feeling ice sit in the pit of his stomach, it spiderwebbed out until despite the warm sun, he felt frozen. 

He came to as the children on the ground in front of him asked for another story. In a daze, he threw him a coin and began to make his way toward the little hut he shared with Nicolò on the edge of town.

As we walked, the storyteller’s words echoed in his head.

This idea of fate sat heavily at the forefront of his mind.

Fate. 

Destiny. 

The enemies to lovers.

And the misunderstandings between the boy and the girl.

His items weighed heavily in his bag as he moved through the city, but the story was like boulders being carried up a hill.

It was silly to feel so struck by a children’s story, but he couldn’t shake the parallels. 

He wasn’t sure why this story was resonating with him so strongly, but he felt as if the storyteller had been talking to him specifically.

As if he had been the man in the market who had taken the girl for face value instead of reading her gestures or listening to her.

Except it wasn’t a girl in a market that was caught in his red thread.

It was Nicolò.

He wondered what Nicolò would say when he mentioned the story to him. Would he see the parallels too? Or would he assume that it was just a story told to gain coin while on the road? Did Nicolò see their lives as being tied together?

A long ago memory shook itself from the cobwebs of his mind as he remembered Nicolò once muttering about fate and destiny. 

It was when they were at the start of their journey. 

When Yusuf didn’t trust him and assumed he was just like every other Crusader slaughtering people across the Holy Land.

But they hadn’t discussed it since. Even though Yusuf still believed in a higher power and Nicolò had eventually come back around to his own faith.

Religion was one of the aspects of their co-habitation that didn’t come up. Yusuf didn’t want to bring it up and he assumed that Nicolò didn’t want to discuss it.

Perhaps now would be a good time to talk about fate and destiny.

Understand if Nicolò still believed they were fated to have a life linked together.

Destined for a higher purpose.

The story could be the sign they were looking for to point them to the path Nicolò and he should be on. 

Fated to be friends.

Fated to help those they encountered.

Fated to do more.

Fated to walk this earth together.

Yusuf shook his head at his thoughts. 

It was just a story.

They weren’t _destined_ to be together.

They weren’t fated.

That was for lovers.

Which they were absolutely not.

Upon reaching their hut, Yusuf pushed the door open to find Nicolò in their little kitchen.

“My friend, are you baking bread?” Yusuf asked, after sniffing the air and setting his bag down on the tiny table.

“I thought it would be good for breakfast tomorrow,” Nicolò said while kneading the dough.

Yusuf watched him for a moment as thoughts of the story rolled around in his head. He considered bringing it up to Nicolò and then bit his tongue. He wasn’t sure how to bring it up. He wasn’t sure if he even believed in fate or destiny or whatever.

He and Nicolò meeting hadn’t been a miraculous encounter. It had been two men fighting for a cause on opposite ends of history. Where they ended up now had been survival and luck.

“I have dinner,” Yusuf said instead.

Nicolò glanced at him and gave him a soft smile. “How was the market? Were you able to draw?”

Yusuf sat down on a chair and watched Nicolò continue to work. He considered again mentioning the story to him, but for some reason, he had the desire to keep it to himself. Unable - or perhaps unwilling - to open a conversation about how they were meant to end up together. 

Fate was for lovers.

And Yusuf knew they would never be lovers.

Nicolò didn’t have those types of feelings for him.

Perhaps he needed time to ruminate on it and then he’d mention it to him.

“I did.”

“And will I get a chance to see your latest masterpiece?”

Yusuf smiled and ducked his head at the statement. He never understood why Nicolò saw his pieces of art as _masterpieces_. They were far from the beautiful artworks they had seen while traveling or were even in the libraries Nicolò so often visited. Yusuf drew to pass the time and because he wanted to remember some of the places they had been or the people they had met.

Sometimes he wanted to remember the moments.

But masterpieces, they were not. 

At least they weren’t to him.

“They aren’t _masterpieces_ , Nicolò. They’re just drawings to pass the time,” he said focusing on Nicolò’s movements instead of his face.

“It never ceases to amaze me how shy you get about your artwork. If I was that good at something--”

“You _are_ that good at something!” Yusuf said quickly.

Nicolò stopped his kneading to cast Yusuf a look of disbelief.

Even 10 years ago, Yusuf wouldn’t have realized that the look he wore on his face was something other than disbelief. But as he smiled serenely up at Nicolò, he could see the tiniest raise of his eyebrow and those chameleon orbs trained on him with a twinkle of amusement reflected back at him. The little corner of his mouth was tilted upward and Yusuf already knew he was going to give him a patronizing little sniff as if to say, ‘you think too highly of me, Yusuf.’ 

It had taken Yusuf a very long time - longer than he was happy to acknowledge - to realize that those looks he’d once considered to be blank, cold, and steely were actually emotive, warm, and introspective. It was those who truly knew Nicolò were only able to tell that he was in fact so much more than he let on.

And Yusuf liked to consider himself as one of the few people who knew him.

If the only one still alive. 

It was one of Yusuf’s favorite things about him. That he was able to see this side of him. No one else was as privy to Nicolò’s most inner thoughts as Yusuf. 

“Don’t make fun, Yusuf,” Nicolò said just the way Yusuf had predicted.

He grinned at him and raised his arms in a little shrug. “You’re making us delicious bread for breakfast. The best bread in the city. You know, I’m not good at baking,” he pointed out.

“Because you aren’t patient. Love and patience is what makes a good loaf of bread,” Nicolò retorted.

“And _that_ is why your bread is much tastier than any we can find in the shops.”

“Your flattery will not distract me from talking about your new masterpiece, my friend,” Nicolò said going back to kneading the bread.

Yusuf huffed and got up from the table to begin to take out the items he’d brought at the market, but Nicolò steered the conversation back to his artwork with a murmured, ‘Yusuf’ and an eyebrow raise.

“It’s nothing special.”

“Why are you being so secretive? I won’t make fun of it,” Nicolò said.

Yusuf could feel his eyes on his back and he hesitated as he considered showing Nicolò the drawing he had been working on. 

It was another one of Nicolò. 

One he had started a few nights before when they had been sitting near their little hearth as Nicolò told him a story from his youth. 

Yusuf had made a comment that had caused Nicolò to fall into a fit of laughter. One of those belly shaking laughs that always made Yusuf preen when he got Nicolò to let go. 

He’d wanted to capture the moment. 

How the firelight had reflected off of Nicolò’s soft pale skin. The way his bright eyes had sparkled in delight. His mouth falling open in happiness and how his hands had wrapped around his middle as he struggled to breath between giggles.

Yes, Yusuf had wanted to draw that image very much.

But he didn’t want to show it to Nicolò. 

Not when he wasn’t sure how the other man would react.

So he lied.

Because he panicked.

And because something inside of him rebelled at showing his friend how much he enjoyed drawing him.

How much he enjoyed making Nicolò his muse. 

“It’s, uh, a beautiful girl was in the market. I drew her,” Yusuf said feeling his stomach squirm and a cold sweat begin to prickle across his neck.

Nicolò blinked and his face smoothed over, but Yusuf saw the small twitch of his mouth. That twitch that told him he was going to smile politely and nod. That he was taking a step back and keeping his thoughts to himself. 

That he was closing himself off.

“I’ll show it to you when it’s finished,” Yusuf said silently cursing the fact he was now going to have to create a very quick drawing of a mysterious woman. He wondered if perhaps he had any old drawings he’d done and he could just show him one of those instead.

But Nicolò was perspective.

And while Yusuf had always liked that quality about him, he was now finding it to be somewhat frustrating because he couldn’t slip anything by him.

“I see,” Nicolò said finally in a clipped tone.

Yusuf gave him a strained smile and then nodded to the kitchen. “Shall I start dinner?”

Nicolò nodded. 

The bread would need time to rest before it would need to be baked. 

Yusuf tentatively moved into the kitchen, slipping by Nicolò and began to start preparing the vegetables and the rabbit he had bought in the market. He felt Nicolò’s eyes on him, but when he turned around, he found his companion had moved toward the other side of the room and was busying himself with cleaning his pocket knife. 

* * *

Nicolò never viewed himself as a nosey person. In fact, he strategically made sure he was _not_ intrusive. 

While in the monastery, he had tried to keep to himself. It went against his own beliefs to pry into other people’s affairs.

If someone came to him for help, then of course, he’d assist them. But he never wanted to be someone who was known for peaking into other people’s lives and telling them how to live.

That wasn’t him.

He enjoyed quiet.

He enjoyed minding his own affairs.

He enjoyed the mystery of life.

Until he met Yusuf.

He wanted to know everything he could about the man.

And yet, he struggled with wanting to give him the privacy that he obviously deserved. He was only Yusuf’s friend. They were only companions because they had both been (gifted, according to Yusuf, but Nicolò saw it more as a curse) presented with this gift from God to live longer than any mortal on earth. 

And while they weren’t doing as much as they could be, they did have the opportunity to help many people while in Merv. 

They had the opportunity to help those around them. Not just people that were subjected to war, but with everyday things as well. 

Their neighbors would often request his help with fixing their roofs or helping to patch up a wall. They helped Ahmad with his family and around his shop. Occasionally, he’d stand in at a market stall if someone needed an extra pair of hands. Last week, he had been recruited to help dig a garden for a neighbor down the road.

While it wasn’t life or death, he felt good doing even the smallest of things for someone else.

Of course, Yusuf was always there to help their friends too. 

It was invigorating to be needed by these people who could have thought of him as an enemy.

Instead, they thought of him as a neighbor - as a _friend_.

And yet for all the good that he and Yusuf had done when they had started to travel together, that didn’t stop Nicolò from having dark thoughts.

It had been a few years since he’d had dreams of death and destruction from the Crusaders, but his nighttime musings had taken a turn toward something else entirely. 

Something that he wasn’t sure what to do with.

A yearning to learn more about his traveling companion despite him opening himself fully to him.

He kept wanting more of Yusuf.

A thirst that never seemed to be quenched.

Yusuf was nothing but honest with Nicolò and he truly loved it. 

But when he thought he’d figured the other man out, a new riddle popped up in its place.

As Yusuf continued to open himself to Nicolò, he thought he’d been sated with what he was given. Instead, he longed for more. 

When Yusuf had brought up this mysterious woman in the market, a myriad of questions popped up about who she was and why Yusuf was enamoured with her. 

What did she have that was appealing to him? 

Nicolò wanted to know more about who he was attracted to.

Who was his type?

Who was this woman? 

And why did she capture Yusuf’s attention?

Yusuf didn’t talk much about his family from before the Crusades and neither did Nicolò. He knew that there were many things he should tell his friend, but they had never come up in conversation. Instead, they focused on the present and had tried to leave their past in the past. But now Nicolò was wondering if he had made a mistake. If he had known more about Yusuf’s past, then perhaps he’d know more about the types of people he was attracted to.

Not that Nicolò cared.

But he was curious.

He wanted to know everything about Yusuf, remember? So of course knowing his preferences was of interest.

Did he enjoy women?

Men?

Both?

Neither?

In the years they had been traveling together, he hadn’t known Yusuf to voice his interest in anyone.

Despite all of the good Nicolò had promised himself he’d do now that he was traveling with Yusuf, he found himself succumbing to sins that left the taste of guilt in his mouth.

Sins of lust.

Sins of jealousy.

Sins of nosiness.

Which is probably how he ended up peaking through Yusuf’s things all the while berating himself for being such a nosey Nicolò. 

He hadn’t _meant_ to look through Yusuf’s drawings. 

He kept them all very organized in a little notebook on the small table near his bed. 

The table that Nicolò had made him two years ago for their anniversary of traveling together. 

The notebook sat on top of the book they had long ago stolen from the bandits they had met on the first night of their journey. The book that neither of them had read, but couldn’t bring themselves to part with. Nicolò kept telling himself that one day he’d read it, but now his Arabic had become so good, he had no excuse not to read it. 

And yet, it remained untouched.

Yusuf had taken to carrying it around, but now that they weren’t traveling, it sat on his bedside table, buried beneath a notebook and the actual book he was reading.

Without having to worry about the weight they carried, Nicolò could collect all the books he wanted. His bedside table was overflowing with them. Occasionally, to pass the time, one of them would read out loud as they waited for sleep to take them.

And yet, the bandit’s book remained comfortably on Yusuf’s side table.

Nicolò hadn’t _meant_ to look through Yusuf’s little bedside table overflowing with his notebook, books, stray pieces of parchment, and charcoal. He’d accidentally kicked it while he was searching for hidden pieces of laundry to put in their basket and take down to the river. 

He’d been digging under the bed they shared (it was to save on room since two beds would not fit in their small hut. It was for comfort, nothing else. And it wasn’t strange for two men to share a bed. It was large enough that they didn’t touch. _Mostly_. Nicolò thought about that a lot.) for a tunic he had seen Yusuf toss under there the other night when his foot had caught the edge of the table. 

He heard a crash behind him and cursed as he grabbed the tunic and tossed it near the basket to begin to pick up the scattering of papers and fallen books. 

He tried not to glance at any of the drawings that had been loosely tucked into the notebook, but he had come to one that was too beautiful to put away without looking at. It was of a face with a Romanesque nose, bright eyes, straight ha - _wait, was that him?_

He scrutinized the image on the piece of paper taking in how his mouth had fallen open in laughter and his eyes crinkled up in joy. 

He tilted his head and squinted as realization slowly dawned on him that Yusuf had drawn _him_. 

He turned the paper over to see if Yusuf had added anything else to indicate why he’d drawn him when he saw text written there. 

_So serious and yet so playful_

_A secret behind your cerulean eyes_

_Or do I see silver?_

_Dare I say, viridescent?_

_Smooth skin that sings to me_

_I wish I had the courage to reach forward_

_I swear upon the heavens that I will speak to you_

_You quicken my heartbeat with one word_

_I wish you were mine_

~~_As the sun reflects off your fiery_ ~~

_For all of eternity_

He felt his stomach jolt as he read the last line and his heartbeat began to speed up. He swallowed thickly and re-read the poem. 

He wasn’t sure who the poem was for, but he hadn’t realized that Yusuf had been writing poetry as well as drawing. 

He knew he drew, but besides a brief conversation about poetry, he didn’t know his friend was also a poet. 

He should’ve guessed, he was an incurable romantic. 

Anyone would be lucky to be with him…

Nicolò shook his head and put the piece of parchment down. He reached forward for the last stray drawing that had fallen and his heart dropped down to his stomach when he saw it. 

It was of a woman.

Presumably the mysterious woman in the market.

Any of the warmth Nicolò may have been feeling after reading that poem disappeared as he looked into the face of the female on the piece of parchment. 

So this was who had captured Yusuf’s heart?

Was the poem for her too?

Was he in love with her?

Who was she?

An uncomfortable burning in his stomach twisted around itself over and over until he felt as if there was a knot there.

He re-read the poem again, his stomach twisting itself further and further into a labyrinth until he felt sick. He knew that he couldn’t _actually_ get sick, but seeing those words written in Yusuf’s scrawl was making him - well, he just had to put it down before he tore it up. 

Tentatively settling the drawing on the bed, he stuck it back in the bandit’s book and organized the table just as he had found it.

He tried to go back to concentrating on gathering their clothes up to take down to the river, but he couldn’t seem to shake his mind of what he’d seen and read.

_I wish I had the courage to reach forward_

Did that mean that Yusuf was too shy to talk to the mysterious market woman?

_I wish you were mine_

Was Yusuf lonely? 

Did he want to spend eternity with this woman instead of him?

Not that they _would_ spend eternity together. For now, they were just - just living day by day. They hadn’t really talked about the future. 

Nicolò knew he couldn’t give his friend everything he wanted. 

There were certain aspects that while he’d long ago become comfortable within himself, he wasn’t sure if Yusuf was inclined toward same sex tendencies. 

In fact, he’d never known Yusuf to be attracted to anyone. Rarely had they conversed about who they were and weren’t interested in lying with.

That just wasn’t them.

To have conversations like that.

It was private.

But now Nicolò was beginning to wonder if Yusuf had wanted to talk to him about his preferences all along and he thought that he didn’t. 

He had told Yusuf long ago he had lived in a monetary and was a man of God, so maybe he had assumed he abstained from sex as well? 

Nicolò didn’t go seeking desires of the skin, but that was because he hadn’t found anyone he wanted to bed. 

He had assumed that was the same with Yusuf. 

But now, he began to wonder if maybe he had been holding Yusuf back because he made him uncomfortable that _he_ wasn’t going after bedfellows.

Nicolò looked around their little hut suddenly very eager to distract himself from the downward spiral of his thoughts. He went back to gathering the basket of clothing to take to the river, needing to suddenly be anywhere but here. But despite his busy hands, something that he rarely needed to do to distract himself - that was Yusuf’s thing, not his - he couldn’t shake his thoughts.

He didn’t want to hold Yusuf back.

He just figured that like him, Yusuf hadn’t found anyone that he wanted to bed. 

Any women he wanted to bed. 

He just assumed they were his preference.

Nicolò straightened up and began to prepare to take the clothes down to the river when the front door swung open and his companion came into the room, his usual large smile on his face. Although, immediately, upon seeing Nicolò’s features, the upturn of his lips slide downward. 

It was evident that his thoughts were on full display on his face, so Nicolò tried to give him a weak smile.

“You’re back early,” Nicolò said, shifting the basket in his arms.

Without preamble, he asked, “what’s wrong?”

“Nothing, nothing. Going down to the river.”

“Do you need a hand?”

“I got it.” 

Silence engulfed them, which was nothing new, but Nicolò felt as if it weighed heavily in the room. 

He wanted to ask Yusuf about the poem, but he also didn’t want to pry. 

He wanted to ask Yusuf the types of people he preferred taking to bed, but the words wouldn’t form.

And then another - _more horrific_ \- thought slipped into his mind.

Perhaps Yusuf had been taking bedfellows all along and Nicolò had been the one holding back because of his own disinterest in anyone who wasn’t--

“I stopped by the market on my way back from the shop. They had your favorite,” Yusuf said, while Nicolò had been spiraling. 

He swung his bag to the front of his body and took out a wrapped parcel that no doubt held the sweets Nicolò always loved. 

The iciness in the pit of his stomach was chased away as warmth spread throughout him when he saw the little wrapped parcel. 

Yusuf was always thinking of him.

He was being ridiculous.

And yet...

Yusuf had a strained smile back on his lips and Nicolò knew he was probably attempting to add some levity to the atmosphere when he had gone stock still.

“Oh? Did you see your paramour?” Nicolò blurted out before he could stop himself.

Yusuf’s strained smile turned into a frown and Nicolò cursed himself for being so petty to have let those words slip from his lips.

“The woman whom you drew the last time at the market,” Nicolò said, attempting to remedy his folly.

Yusuf shook his head, his brown eyes still trained on him as if he were trying to figure out a particularly difficult puzzle. He moved forward and placed the parcel on the table. When Nicolò didn’t say anything, Yusuf made a move to take the basket from him.

“Are you sure you don’t need any help?” Yusuf asked.

He moved out of his way, “no, no, you just...I’m fine. I don’t - I’m fine.”

Yusuf took a step forward as Nicolò righted himself and attempted to go around him. “Nicolò, are you alright? Did something happen?”

“You worry too much, Yusuf. I must go before the sun sets. We don’t want to be without clothes,” Nicolò said and hurried out of the little hut. He needed to put as much distance as he could between him and Yusuf.

A thought that didn’t sit well with him.

He hoped by the time he was done with the laundry, this strange twisting in his stomach would have ridden itself from his body.

* * *

It did not rid itself from his body.

In fact, while he was down at the river, there were a group of women there. They were also doing laundry and while some of them gazed at him with curious and flirty looks, he couldn’t help but wonder if one of those women were Yusuf’s mysterious market woman. 

Rather than shake his dark thoughts and the lines from Yusuf’s poem he’d peaked at, being down at the river exacerbated them. 

_I wish you were mine._

_For all of eternity._

_I wish you were mine._

_For all of eternity._

_I wish you were mine._

Did Yusuf like the one with the bangles going up her arm? Or the one with the long dark braid? What about the woman who was singing under her breath? Or the one with the gregarious laugh, like his?

By the time that Nicolò was finished washing their clothes and had journeyed back to their little hut, he was positive he was coming down with something.

He knew that he couldn’t _actually_ get sick.

But maybe it was a 24 hour bug.

A few years ago there had been a plague traveling through the Silk Road and many had died from the disease. But it had not touched Yusuf nor Nicolò.

However, Nicolò was _sure_ this time was different.

He’d never felt so - so _unfamiliar_ with his own body before.

He was able to sit in the quiet for hours on end with just a good book, some candlelight, and Yusuf sitting beside him.

But now, it was like his legs hurt while standing too much or sitting. His arms felt heavy wrapped around his body or laying still by his sides. Even his eyes couldn’t stop moving. He was unable to just sit still or even to keep his hands doing one thing.

He wasn’t sure how Yusuf dealt with all of this energy. 

It was disconcerting when the world felt like it was squeezing him and there was nowhere to go where he’d feel comfortable.

By the time he got back to their hut, Nicolò wasn’t sure how he’d sit down long enough to eat their evening meal and read by candlelight as he always did before they went to bed.

He stood in their little front yard for several long moments as he took long steadying breaths and attempted to regain some semblance of comfort as he prepared to go inside.

On the third breath out, he set the basket down and pushed the front door open to be greeted with delicious smells of whatever the meal Yusuf was cooking. He took another deep breath in, picked up the basket, and moved into the house, greeting his friend with a quick ‘hello.’

“Just in time, my friend, dinner will be served shortly,” Yusuf said jovially.

Nicolò grunted back a ‘great’ and went out back to the clothes line they had strung up to a tree. He was so intent on his task that he didn’t notice Yusuf follow him out into the yard.

“How was the river, Nicolò?” Yusuf asked as he took some of the wet clothes and began to hang them.

Nicolò nearly jumped at the question, not anticipating Yusuf to be so close to him.

“It was the river,” he said shortly.

He was attempting to stick one of their tunics on the line when Yusuf cleared his throat and said quietly.

“Did I do something wrong?”

Nicolò’s head whipped around to face Yusuf. Nearly colliding their crowns together, they were so close together.

“What?” Nicolò asked, surprised.

“Did I--”

“No, no. It’s - it’s nothing,” Nicolò said waving it off.

He felt Yusuf’s eyes still on him, but he ignored him as he continued hanging their clothes. Silence fell over them once again as they worked together to empty the basket, Nicolò much faster than Yusuf who seemed to be waiting for him to do something. 

Once they had finished hanging up the clothes, they went back inside. Yusuf dished them out the stew he had been making and they ate the bread Nicolò had made that morning. He wondered if he had successfully dodged Yusuf’s questions enough for him to forget about them as they ate dinner.

“So--”

“Did something happen while I was out?” Yusuf asked, cutting him off.

Apparently, he was not successful.

Nicolò opened his mouth and then closed it. He stared across the table at Yusuf who was waiting patiently for him to say something. He cleared his throat and against his better judgement he began to speak.

“Do you - do you wish for company?” Nicolò asked tentatively.

Yusuf frowned slightly, “company? Like over for a meal?”

He shook his head, “no.”

“We have each other. Do you want to travel with more people?” Yusuf asked after a moment of Nicolò staring at him and willing him to understand.

“If you would like to. I don’t want to hold you back,” he said quickly.

Yusuf’s frown deepened and he sat back in his chair, his spoon dropping to the table as he contemplated Nicolò.

“You’re not holding me back. I’m - I’m - I like our - I like this,” Yusuf uncharacteristically stumbled over his words and waved between them.

Nicolò blinked as he struggled to understand what Yusuf was attempting to say. Was he happy with the way things were? But didn’t he understand that Nicolò was asking more than just traveling companions? He was asking about romantic intentions. 

“You’re not - You’re not lonely?”

“Lonely? No! Are you?”

“No, but--”

“But what?”

Nicolò let out a sigh of frustration and looked down at the stew in front of him. For a minute, he thought about straight up asking Yusuf if he wanted a female companion, but he wasn’t sure if he wanted to know the answer.

“Do you like our life? Do you like it here?” Nicolò asked instead.

Yusuf nodded, “very much so. Don’t you?”

“I just - I worry. What if - what if...I’m sorry, I just want to make sure you’re happy,” Nicolò said quietly.

Yusuf gave him a small smile, “Of course, I’m happy. We have each other. That’s all I need.”

“But don’t you want a - some intimacy?” Nicolò blurted out wincing internally at his question. He bit the inside of his cheek as he waited for Yusuf to answer.

He watched as Yusuf blinked at him and swallowed. He saw the faintest tint of darkness grace his cheeks and Nicolò wondered if he had made his friend blush.

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. You’re - you’re a man of God and--”

“We have traveled together for a long time, Yusuf. If you have needs--”

“I do, but they can be surpr--”

“But I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable,” Nicolò said quickly.

“You wouldn’t part--”

“No, no, it’s not - I have no interest in those - those things,” Nicolò could feel the hot prickles on the back of his neck and his cheeks grow warm as their conversation moved from uncomfortable to extremely awkward.

“Oh,” Yusuf said simply.

He ducked his head and Nicolò watched him for a moment before moving forward and taking a bit of his stew.

“You - you don’t need my permission to do whatever you want, Yusuf. I - I do not judge,” Nicolò said, after taking a bite and nearly choking on it to get the words out.

“Where is this coming from, Nicolò?” Yusuf asked after a long pause.

Nicolò ducked his head, his eyes focused on the stew in front of him as he struggled to come up with something to say that didn’t show him for the nosey person he was for sniffing around Yusuf’s drawings and reading his poems.

For being far too curious about the woman in the market.

For being far too curious about Yusuf.

It wasn’t like Yusuf wouldn’t have shown them to him if he’d asked. But perhaps now that he realized they were about the mysterious woman in the market, Nicolò wasn’t sure if he’d be able to stomach hearing about someone else that Yusuf had his eye on.

Someone else Yusuf wanted to spend his time with. 

Obviously, he should be happy for his friend because they had been together a very long time and he should have someone he cared for, who cared about him.

But _Nicolò_ cared about him. 

_A lot._

There was a tightness in his chest and a twisting in his stomach whenever he thought of Yusuf spending his time outside of their little hut with someone else.

Especially someone who might not understand everything that he was able to offer. Nicolò knew him inside and out and he didn’t want his friend to be hurt because a woman didn’t return his feelings. 

Yes, _that_ was the reason he was worried for his friend.

He was just being _protective_.

He was his friend, it was his job to watch out for Yusuf.

Who loved largely and without boundaries.

Who wore his heart on his sleeve and deserved the world for how generous he was.

“I - I worry about you, that’s all, my friend,” Nicolò said eventually.

Yusuf raised his eyebrows at him, “and you don’t think I’m happy with you?”

“Well, of course, but I cannot offer you everything you may seek,” Nicolò said reasonably.

Yusuf smiled slightly, “because you’re a devout man?”

“Well, yes, and - we’re _friends_ ,” Nicolò dipped his head down to take another bite of stew. 

When he came back up, Yusuf had a funny look on his face as if he tasted something bad. 

“We’re _friends_?”

Nicolò felt his stomach drop as he realized that this was the first time he had said those words out loud. Maybe Yusuf didn’t see them as friends? Maybe he had overstepped his bounds? Maybe he’d thought too highly of their friendship whereas Yusuf saw it as a convenience?

“I - yes, friends. Is that - do you not think of us as friends?”

“I do, yes, of course I do. I just --” Yusuf paused and took a deep breath in before scooting toward the table and taking a bite of his stew.

“You what?”

“I - I value your friendship,” Yusuf mumbled finally.

Nicolò gave him a tight smile and nodded. Silence engulfed their little hut for several minutes as they ate, eventually Nicolò decided to break it.

“And as friends, I want you to be happy.”

“I think we established that,” Yusuf said humor lacing his words.

“With whomever you like,” Nicolò added, ignoring Yusuf’s jab of humor.

“I see,” Yusuf said quietly.

Nicolò nodded once and returned to his supper. His mind already replayed their conversation, hoping that he got his point across. 

Yusuf shouldn’t be held back by him. 

He didn’t want to hold him back. 

They were friends and he didn’t want Yusuf to resent him.

Yes, that was it.

* * *

Yusuf wasn’t sure what was going on with Nicolò. But he did know one thing, he obviously had something on his mind. He had been acting strange all day and into the night as they ate supper.

As the days went on, Yusuf half expected him to go back to normal and yet, he seemed to be acting even stranger. 

It was on the third day after their weird conversation had transpired between them, Yusuf decided he needed to get out of their hut. 

He told his friend he was going to go swimming in the river. If he wandered further upstream from where the laundry was done, there were less people and he was able to swim without feeling uncomfortable. 

He left while Nicolò was closing up the little textile shop. He’d planned to stay to help him clean up, but Nicolò had waved him away and told him he could do it himself. 

It was strange since they _always_ closed up together and stopped on the way home to visit with Avram and Rivka. They lived a few huts down and had become friends with them. Avram ran one of the market stall owners and Rivka would sew baskets to sell. They had several of her baskets to hold various items and Avram told the most obscene jokes. But Yusuf and Nicolò both enjoyed stopping over there once a week to play games, discuss the world, and eat some of Rivka’s famous _Murakkaba_. 

Instead, he left the shop early, bypassed visiting their friends and headed back toward their home to gather his things to go swimming. He had every intention of taking his notebook and charcoal to sketch along the riverside, but when he went to grab his latest drawing - the one he told Nicolò he’d been working on of the woman in the market to sidetrack him so he wouldn’t figure out the drawing he’d been so diligently creating was of him - he was unable to find it.

Frowning, he looked around his little bedside table where he usually set his drawing materials and the books he was reading. But was wasn’t able to find the drawing he’d been working on.

He began to carefully flip through the notebook. When he didn’t find it there, he picked up the bandit’s book where he housed more private drawings - generally of Nicolò - and began to flip through it.

There, where he knew that he didn’t stick the drawing, the lovely image of the woman from the market stared up at him.

The day after Nicolò had asked about the drawing he was doing of him, Yusuf went to the market and searched for a random woman to draw. 

He’d finally found one, feeling as though his heart wasn’t all the way in it as he began to outline her face and body. He made mistakes where he’d usually diligently take his time to make sure that the lines were perfect, that the shadowing reflected the beauty of the figure, and the features were replicated as seamlessly as possible.

All he saw when he looked at the drawing were all the mistakes he’d made.

And now as it stared up at him in a spot he most definitely didn’t put it, he wondered how it got in the bandit’s book where all of his favorite drawings lived.

The only answer was that Nicolò had put it there.

Unless they had a break in and all they did was look through his notebook.

He snatched it out of the book and stuffed it in his notebook, a desire to get it as far away from his beloved drawings of Nicolò as possible.

Gathering a linen to use to dry off and his water skin, he descended from the house and toward the river. His footsteps a lot louder and heavier than he meant them to be as the wheels in his brain began to turn.

Had Nicolò been going through his things?

But why would he do that?

Didn’t they trust one another?

Didn’t Nicolò say the other night that they were _friends_?

Was that why he’d been acting so weird?

Had he found something he didn’t like in Yusuf’s belongings?

Had he found the poem and been so disgusted that it was about him?

Nicolò had said he wasn’t interested in having a bedfellow. Perhaps, he was disgusted by - by Yusuf’s interests? Was he disgusted _by Yusuf?_

He replayed the conversation they’d had from the other night when he’d come home to find Nicolò looking uncomfortable and nervous. The series of emotions that had played across his face were unlike any that Yusuf had seen. 

There was discomfort, frustration, guilt, and wistfulness that he wasn’t sure how to interpret.

The conversation had been so strange to Yusuf. He wasn’t sure what Nicolò was trying to tell him, but he did know that however Nicolò felt, it was only of friendship.

He’d been very clear about that.

He wasn’t interested in taking their relationship to the next level.

_Just friends._

Yusuf should be happy he was willingly acknowledging a friendship. Instead, he felt a downtrodden heaviness in his chest. He couldn’t help but feel a little let down by the word _friend._

The river was empty when Yusuf got there, so he spread out his linen and slid out of his clothes to descend into the river. The water was cool against his sticky hot skin and he readily dunked his head into the water. When he emerged, his curls were hanging heavy and low with moisture. He flicked his head backwards and dunked his head in the water again, taking pleasure in the way the coldness finally settled his thoughts.

He swam across the shallow waters. And moved onto his back to stare up at the sky, taking in the beautiful blue coloring. 

Of course, the serenity didn’t last long as his mind went back to the strange conversation he’d had with Nicolò. 

Much as he had these last few days

How uncomfortable he seemed throughout it.

His mouth was saying one thing while his eyes were screaming another.

And if there was one thing that 20 years of traveling together had taught Yusuf, it was the language of Nicolò and how to accurately read him. The thing about Nicolò was that while his words were meaningful and deep, his silvery mist eyes told the real story.

Long ago, Yusuf had thought of Nicolò as cold, but that couldn’t be any further from the truth. His eyes told the story that his mouth was unwillingly to say. They gave Yusuf insight into the whirlwind of emotions that Nicolò worked so hard to hide. 

His eyes were a beautiful blue-grey that provided Yusuf a glimpse into his heart and soul. Yusuf had tried to capture their depth before, but even with paints, he was sure he’d never get the precise color of blue meeting grey with a hint of green.

“Yusuf!” 

Yusuf splashed to attention as he looked around for the voice. His eyes didn’t have to travel far to find Nicolò waiting by the banks of the river for him. 

Making his way toward his companion, Yusuf didn’t miss the discomfort clearly on his face. He stopped as the water wooshed around his lower half and watched Nicolò’s eyes drift down and then away.

“Have you come to swim with me, Nicolò?” Yusuf asked a hint of teasing in his voice, taking a few steps forward, so that the tops of his hips were now exposed.

“I, uh, _no_. I just - I--” Nicolò cleared his throat and kept his eyes on Yusuf’s face as he stumbled through his words.

Yusuf raised his eyebrows at him and waited patiently. He watched as Nicolò’s eyes kept darting downward and then back to his face. He swore there was a faint blush brushing his cheekbones, but it could also be the heat. 

“Come swimming,” Yusuf said when Nicolò continued to stutter.

Nicolò shook his head, “I just - _nevermind_. I’ll see you at home.”

Yusuf watched, feeling a little stunned as Nicolò took off away from the river and him. He looked down at himself to see what could’ve made Nicolò uncomfortable. When he didn’t see anything except his exposed hips, he tentatively moved back to further waters. He went back to floating on his back, allowing his mind to drift to Nicolò’s strange behavior. 

And for a brief moment, he allowed himself to imagine what would’ve happened if Nicolò had gotten into the water with him.

* * *

Nicolò hurried away from the river bank as fast as he could. He struggled to ignore the flashes of Yusuf’s slick tan skin, defined muscles, and wet locks plastered to his face. He shoved away the image of him floating in the river, too far to define any of his anatomy but close enough to tease him. He disregarded the dip of his hips that disappeared into the water. And when his imagination ran wild of what the water hid, he ignored that too.

They had changed in front of each other while they traveled.

How could they not?

They were _traveling_ together and privacy was a privilege neither of them had.

So why was Nicolò feeling so uncomfortable when he saw his companion swimming naked in the river banks? 

When they changed, Nicolò strategically made sure to not pay attention to what was going on. He focused on giving Yusuf as much privacy as he could afford him. He focused on taking off his clothes and that was all.

He was _not_ prepared to see Yusuf emerge from the water like some sort of beautifully enticing water Satyr. 

He hadn’t expected for Yusuf to shake his head and cause him to go speechless.

He wasn’t expecting his heart to pick up in speed and his stomach to dip into an area that he had strategically made sure wasn’t a place that he associated with Yusuf.

And yet, here he was.

Hurrying away from Yusuf and back home to avoid seeing him in such an exposed position. 

He’d gone looking for Yusuf for a reason he was struggling to remember now. It had something to do with - with - _oh right!_

With dinner. 

He had come home and saw that Yusuf was still out and - and - well, it didn’t matter now. 

He nearly tripped in his haste when he saw their little hut in the distance. He was so desperate to erase the last 10 minutes from his mind and just go back to how things were before. 

When he arrived back in their hut, he began to cobble together something seemingly edible. Moving his hands, he focused on the task to keep his mind busy and help him avoid thinking about what he’d just witnessed. 

If he could just focus on cutting the tomatoes and the eggplant to make baba ganoush the way Yusuf had showed him and the little pitas then maybe--

An unwilling image of Yusuf standing before him in the river bank appeared to him and he nearly cut his finger off in surprise.

He let out a little huff and set the knife he’d been using down on the table. He rested his hands on the surface and leaned his head down to focus on his feet. He took a few deep breaths in and let them out as slowly as he was able to.

_In._

_Out._

_In._

_Out._

“Give me strength,” Nicolò muttered.

He stared down at his feet and then slowly he picked the knife up again and began to cut the vegetables he’d picked up from the market. Then he started to make the pita the way Yusuf had shown him. He was halfway through placing the little pitas on their hearth when Yusuf came home. 

He came into the house much differently than he usually did. When he came home, he was a boisterous presence that filled the room with his joyous spirit.

When he walked in after his swim and Nicolò acting as strangely as he had, he seemed almost docile stepping over the threshold. 

Nicolò felt his cheeks heat up as another image of Yusuf standing in the water appeared in his mind. This time he did slice his finger open. He watched as it healed as quickly as he cut it and then he prepared to turn to his friend.

“Have a nice swim?” Nicolò asked.

Yusuf nodded slowly and shuffled into the hut.

“Very. What, uh, what are you making?” Yusuf stuttered out.

Nicolò had the distinct impression that wasn’t what he was planning on asking.

“Dinner. Figured I’d cook tonight. It’s just some pita, baba, roasted tomatoes…” Nicolò mumbled focusing on making sure the pitas were properly burnt.

He glanced over when Yusuf didn’t say anything and found him staring at him with a curious expression on his face. His head was tilted and he looked like he was trying to decide how to approach him. Nicolò raised his eyebrows in response and Yusuf shook his head slightly and went to sit down at their little table.

“The water was nice, you know. You could’ve joined me,” he said.

Nicolò turned back to the hearth and shook his head at it. “I wasn’t in the mood for a swim.”

“Maybe tomorrow then.”

“Maybe.”

The hut fell into silence and Nicolò began to mentally flip through conversation topics he could bring up to discuss with his friend. But instead, the image of Yusuf in the river came to him again and he felt a prickling of heat on the back of his neck descend.

“Nicolò?”

He turned to look at him so quickly, he nearly dropped the pita he was placing in the fire. “Yes?”

“Have you - um - I was wondering...I noticed - nevermind,” Yusuf stuttered out.

Nicolò frowned and watched as Yusuf looked down at the table and began to pick up making the baba and roasted tomatoes from where he had left off. He watched as Yusuf diligently began to cut up the vegetables. But he noticed the stiffness of how he sat, how he was shifting uncomfortably, and the way his eyes darted to look at him. 

He could read Yusuf well by this point and he knew he wanted to ask something, but wasn’t sure how Nicolò would react.

“What?” Nicolò asked.

“Nothing, nothing.”

“Is it about the river? I didn’t mean to walk in on--”

“What?”

“I didn’t mean to invade your privacy. I’m sorry,” Nicolò said quietly. 

He bit his lip. Hating the way his words tumbled out of his mouth. Hating how his apology could apply to going through his drawings _and_ walking in on him at the river.

Hatng that he had to apologize for overstepping Yusuf’s boundaries. 

Yusuf stared at him for a long moment and then his eyes darted over to the fire. “I noticed some of my drawings were out of order. Did you move them?”

Nicolò felt a swooping in his stomach and he went back to the pita. He scowled when he noticed how burnt some of them looked, but he flipped them and tried to come up with something to say.

He could admit that he _had_ gone through his drawings and he _had_ read the poem he had written for the woman in the market. He could fess up and they could laugh about it. But Nicolò wasn’t really in the laughing mood. In fact, that strange stomach turning feeling was coming back as he thought about that drawing of the woman and the poem Yusuf had written for her.

“I wouldn’t touch your things, Yusuf. As I hope you wouldn’t touch mine,” Nicolò blurted out mentally wincing at how accusatory he sounded. He felt his heart beating against his chest and he bit his tongue at the lie. 

He tasted blood.

“Oh because--”

“Maybe if you weren’t so messy--”

“Messy? So you did--”

“I didn’t do anything,” Nicolò snapped, taking out the pitas from the fire and throwing them on the table.

He avoided Yusuf’s eyes as he grabbed the cut up tomatoes and garlic from him and began to prep them before he roasted them. He knew that if he was looking at Yusuf he would probably notice the ire that was slowly growing in his eyes.

“You’ve been acting strangely, Nicolò. Have I done--”

“I’m fine. Pass me the eggplant,”

“Nicolò--”

“Please?”

There was a moment of silence as Nicolò stared down at his outstretched hand waiting for Yusuf to put the vegetable there. Slowly, Yusuf handed him over the eggplant.

“If you had gone through--”

“I _didn’t--_ ”

“But _if you had_ , it’s not a big deal. I like sharing my drawings--”

“And your poems too? You like sharing those?” Nicolò exclaimed as sharply as the knife he’d been using moments before.

He chanced a glance at Yusuf and he saw his features begin to harden. His jaw clenched. His usually warm brown eyes turned stony and narrowed. 

“You have been going through my stuff. Why?” Yusuf snapped just as shrewdly.

Nicolò ignored him and moved toward the fire to begin cooking the vegetables.

“Why?” Yusuf asked again a little louder.

“I told you, your table was a mess. I was looking for laundry, it was an accident,” Nicolò muttered.

_I wish you were mine._

Nicolò hated the woman in the market.

Nicolò wanted to hate Yusuf too, but he knew that was impossible.

He could never hate him.

Not anymore.

“An accident? Is that why you have been acting strangely?”

“Why would I be acting strangely because I read your poetry or saw a drawing you did? You’re being ridiculous, Yusuf,” Nicolò said focusing on cooking dinner and trying to get out of this conversation unscathed.

Yusuf was quiet for a few minutes and then he heard him shuffling behind him. “I don’t know. Why would you? Did the poem both--”

“I’m _fine_ , Yusuf. I don’t care what you draw or whom. And I surely, don’t care about your poetry,” Nicolò said testily.

He bit his lip as he realized how that sounded. He quickly turned away, but he already saw Yusuf moving away from where he’d been hovering over Nicolò and going toward the door.

“Wait - Yusuf, I didn’t--”

“I’m going to go out. Enjoy dinner,” Yusuf said opening the door and leaving before Nicolò could get up to stop him. He stared at the door for a moment and then dejectedly moved back to the hearth. 

When he ate the meal he’d made for him and Yusuf, all he tasted was ash.

* * *

Yusuf didn’t come home until Nicolò was in bed and reading by candlelight. It was late when he came in and he avoided Nicolò’s eyes as he prepared for bed. He tried to catch his eye, but Yusuf studiously ignored him. And every time his eyes rested too long on him, images from the river popped up. When the candles were blown out, they barely muttered ‘goodnight’ to one another before drifting off.

That night Nicolò dreamt of the women again.

For the first time in many months.

Possibly even years.

But this time he dreamed of the one with the bright eyes getting her neck sliced open. Ruby red liquid poured over pale skin and the other woman hugged her close as she descended into darkness. The other one with the dark eyes whispered soothing words into her ears. As she took her last breath, the Eastern woman looked toward the sky and weeped. He could feel her pain from being parted from one another. 

Even if it was only seconds. 

How that sharp agony slithered into the bones and caused her heart rate to speed up in nervousness. 

Would this time be her last breath? 

Would she wake up again? 

Tears traveled down her face and she buried her face in her dead lover’s hair as she waited for her heartbeat to start. 

Nicolò felt how she could barely breath as the seconds ticked by and she waited for her to come to.

He understood that pain.

The loss of losing the one person who understood who he was.

The loss of being truly alone.

The fear that gripped him in those seconds of the unknown.

He woke up gasping and clutching at his throat as he waded through the pitch black that had engulfed him.

“Nicolò? Are you alright?” A soft voice pierced the darkness and he felt a warm hand on his arm.

Nicolò reached for it and he squeezed his hand around Yusuf’s.

“What’s wrong?” Yusuf asked in that same gentle tone.

Nicolò scooted closer to him and gripped his hand tighter, needing the feeling of being grounded that Yusuf offered. He focused on taking several deep breaths in as he struggled to remind himself that Yusuf was here.

He wasn’t going anywhere.

They were together.

He was safe.

 _They_ were safe.

“It was a dream,” Nicolò said quietly.

“About the Crusades?” 

“No. The women.”

Instead of answering, Yusuf drew him closer and Nicolò buried his head into his shoulder as he struggled to get his breath back. He matched his breathing to Yusuf’s. Something they had taken to doing whenever one of them had a nightmare.

“Do you want to tell me about it?” Yusuf murmured.

Nicolò smiled slightly, “the two women - one of them was murdered. The other one felt her lose. There wasn’t - I guess I felt overwhelmed by that - by that feeling.”

Yusuf was quiet as he gently stroked the skin of Nicolò’s wrist. Nicolò closed his eyes and took another deep breath in, smelling the sweet and spiciness that was distinctly Yusuf. He squeezed Yusuf’s hand again as a reminder that they were both here and then he pulled away.

However, when he began to move away, for a moment Yusuf held him tightly to him and then he let him move back to his side of the bed. Nicolò rolled back over to his side of the bed and blinked against the darkness to see Yusuf. But it was so ill-lit in their little hut, he had a hard time finding him. He was about to reach out to him when he felt Yusuf’s warm strong fingers wrap back around his wrist. 

“I’m sorry, about - about before. I didn’t mean to. I love your artwork. Poems, drawings, and whatever else you want to create,” Nicolò whispered.

He couldn’t see Yusuf in the darkness, but he somehow could feel the warmth of this sleepy smile.

“What are friends for, Nico?” Yusuf asked in a tone laced with sleep.

Nicolò smiled to himself at the nickname. Yusuf had always called him Nicolò, but he found himself liking the shortened version. Long ago, his family had called him Nico, but he hadn’t heard that in a long time.

“Nico, huh?”

“Is that okay?”

“Of course, my friend.”

Yusuf didn’t respond and eventually, Nicolò could hear his breath even out. He listened to him for a long time. Counting each breath he took and let out, reminding himself that they were together and would always be. 

He’d make sure of it. 

He wasn’t willing to be parted from him. 

Yusuf’s hand wrapped around his wrist kept him grounded. 

That was all he needed.

As his mind began to drift touching the edges of sleep, the line from Yusuf’s poem drifted into his mind.

_I wish you were mine._

_For all of eternity._

For just a moment, Nicolò wished not for the first time that the poem was about him. 

And then he reminded himself, that they were friends.

Just friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few things. I'm sorry if the poem was a little...lacking. I'm not great at poetry. I looked at poems during that time and it was along these lines. 
> 
> Also, again I'm not a historian, I'm just here for fun, so I'm sorry if there are inaccuracies. My research consisted of using Google.
> 
> Red thread story - is a real story, but I did take some liberties since there are many different versions. I take no credit for the story, but I did embellish it for this story. 
> 
> Murakkaba - fried dough covered in butter and honey
> 
> And that's it...I think. If there's anything I'm leaving out, then let me know. Next chapter will be up next week. Shooting for Thursday updates, but we'll see. Thanks again for reading and drop a comment if you want!


	4. 1250

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yusuf discovers something that prompts him to try to reveal his true feelings to Nicolò

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to those of you who are reading this story! It's been a lot of fun to write! I really appreciate the feedback, the kudos, and the bookmarks. I'm glad to see people are enjoying it.
> 
> Here's the next chapter, I don't really have any specific notes for it other than telling you to enjoy! (other than, don't look too deeply into the historical aspects except Merv was a real place and obvs Palermo is too) lol. If you'd like, please leave a comment. Thank you again for reading! A new chapter should be up next Thurs.

_"_ _Can you tell that I’m yours?_

_As you are mine"_

_~Poem About Nicolò By Yusuf al-Kaysani_

* * *

_Merv 1221_

If Nicolò had known that it was their last night in their little hut, he would’ve taken an extra moment to savor the delightful life he and Yusuf had built together. But instead, they indulged in their usual routine.

Yusuf cooked dinner.

Nicolò cleaned up.

Yusuf drew.

Nicolò read to him before they went to bed.

Very tentatively - something that he’d started recently doing - Nicolò reached out and touched Yusuf’s hand before they fully drifted off. He was rewarded with a squeeze before they were totally eclipsed in sleep.

If he’d known that this was there last night, he’d have been the one to sleep in front of Yusuf to protect him.

He should’ve been doing that from the beginning, but it had been many years since they’d been attacked while sleeping.

In fact, neither of them had picked up a sword since they settled down in Merv.

As it were, even if he was immortal, he couldn’t see the future.

He didn’t know what was coming.

He’d always been a light sleeper, but since he spent decades hunting and being hunted by Yusuf, he became very attuned to even the slightest disturbance in his surroundings. 

Some things never went away, but looking back on that night later on, he’d chastise himself for being so careless with his and Yusuf’s life.

When they settled in Merv, Yusuf had begun to pray more. Nicolò never really asked about it, but he did notice it. Since they had met, Nicolò knew he was a religious man and tried to pray the required five times a day. However, it was difficult on the road. With a routine, he was able to pray without worrying about slowing Nicolò down. 

Something he was very attuned to. 

Nicolò hadn’t realized how attuned to it he was until Yusuf had asked him one day if he was tired of waiting on him.

“Tired of waiting on you?” Nicolò asked, confused.

Yusuf just nodded and waited for Nicolò to tell him - _what? That he slowed him down?_

Nicolò would never do that.

“No, I don’t mind waiting on you. I’d never mind waiting on you,” Nicolò said slowly, making sure to meet his eyes so that Yusuf knew how serious he was.

He nodded, mollified and they seemed to move on.

But every now and again Nicolò wondered if he still had that worry.

As Nicolò watched Yusuf become immersed back in his religion, especially attending the services at the mosque, Nicolò began to find God again in his own way. And while Nicolò had spent almost a 100 years without religion, he realized that the more time he spent with Yusuf, the more he had a need for it.

Perhaps he’s lost religion because he decided there was nothing left to pray for in his life.

He was alive and well. His family long since dead and no amount of prayer would help the world find peace.

But then Yusuf entered his life and he felt the urge to keep him from harm. After years of killing one another, Nicolò just wanted to protect him.

And so he began to pray once again.

Not for himself, but to keep Yusuf safe.

They couldn’t die, but they could be injured.

They could be attacked.

They could be _taken_.

And Nicolò would rather die over and over for the rest of his life if it meant keeping Yusuf safe for eternity.

So while he drifted off into the land of sleep, he whispered the same prayer he’d said since they settled in Merv to protect Yusuf.

It seemed that on this evening, God wasn’t listening.

What first alerted Nicolò to the intruders was the sound of a strange language. To his ears, it sounded so foriegn, something he’d never heard before. He had been having a wonderful dream about lounging by the river with Yusuf when those unfamiliar voices brought him back to reality. 

Sleepily, he began to push himself out of bed when their front door burst open. He moved to jump out of bed, but his legs got tangled in the blankets. That was all the soldiers needed to lunge across their tiny hut and slide a long sword into Yusuf’s stomach.

He distinctly heard his friend let out a gurgling groan. But his world became narrowed and red as his gaze rested on the soldier that removed his weapon and moved to stab him again. However, Nicolò grabbed his sword from the end of the bed and slid it into the soldier in one fast swing. He stood in front of Yusuf and kept his eye on the door as soldiers made their way in.

“Yusuf, Yusuf, wake up,” Nicolò said, reaching behind him to shake him awake. He knew that it would take time for him to heal, but he needed him to wake up _now_.

He heard him let out a distressed cough and gargle; he knew he was fighting against the death that called to him. Nicolò wanted to reach back and take his face in his hands and tell him to let go so he could come back to him, but his first priority was to protect him. He’d take care of the soldiers and then he’d reach back to him and make sure he was okay. 

His eyes rested on the soldiers who had filled their tiny home with their strange language, vicious smirks, and malicious laughter.

They said something to him and spit on the floor, but Nicolò was focused on their weaknesses, intent on defending their little hut.

Nicolò stood in front of Yusuf as one of the soldiers advanced forward. He said something in his strange language, but Nicolò paid him no mind as he focused on the weapon in his hand.

He heard Yusuf mutter something behind him, but his attention was focused on disarming the soldier who had lunged forward. He swung his sword to block his attack and the soldier grinned at him.

Nicolò glared as he tried to strike again and he waved his sword at the weak area of his side to catch him off guard. The man went down and Nicolò made the mistake of moving forward to take out the other soldiers that had crowded into their home.

He hadn’t anticipated them rushing toward him. Blindly, he swung his sword at them to

keep them at bay. He heard Yusuf scuffle behind him as he focused on taking out the soldiers in front of him. He was able to disarm two of them, but when two went down, another one came through their front floor. 

It was only when one of them yelled out and they began to move back did Nicolò smell the smoke.

“Yusuf?” Nicolò asked as he turned around in their little hut to find the source of the smell. It was as he faced their bed that he saw Yusuf on his back. A knife stuck out of his stomach and blood poured onto their blankets. He could see multiple stab wounds from where he stood and bile raised up from his stomach. 

Nicolò forgot about the smell of smoke and rushed forward to Yusuf.

“Yusuf?” Nicolò cried, placing his hands on his shoulders and giving him a gentle shake.

Yusuf didn’t move and after a few minutes Nicolò realized he wasn’t breathing. He reached toward the knife and withdrew it, watching as the wound slowly healed. He could see the multiple other stab wounds, but it was when his eyes raised to rest on his face did he see the sliced throat. There had been so much blood, he’d almost missed it. He ached to reach forward and look for more wounds, but he knew they didn’t have that much time.

He swallowed thickly as he realized that while he had been useless at protecting him, Yusuf had been stabbed over and over again, not just by the first soldier. His scimitar was held loosely in his hand and there was blood on it, which signaled to Nicolò that at least he’d gotten some good self-defense moves in before they’d sliced his throat.

Sighing, he reached out a tentative hand and laid it on Yusuf’s cheek. It had been a long time since he’d seen his friend dead. The last time was by his own hand about 20 years ago before they had decided to reach a truce. He wanted to shake him awake, but he knew it took time for him to heal and come around.

He sighed and caressed the soft skin of his cheek as he waited for him to come back to him. His mind unwillingly went to that dream he’d had of the women and one of them dying while the other waited for her to come back.

He tried not to think about how long it was taking for him to come back to life. What penetrated through the agonizingly long moments was the crackling of something and the strong scent of smoke. He looked away from Yusuf’s lifeless face and cursed when he saw the fire that was tearing down a wall in their home. He rushed toward the two bags they had used while they traveled and looked around their little home as he searched for small enough items to bring with them.

He grabbed the small amount of perishable goods they had. The notebook and the bandit’s book on Yusuf’s bedside table. The first book he saw on his own. 

He’d have to leave the furniture he’d built. The artwork Yusuf had collected. The baskets they’d purchased from Rivka. The pottery Ahmad’s kids had made for them. The rug that Ahmad’s daughter had weaved. 

He looked over at Yusuf and willed him to open his eyes, but he remained still. Nicolò cursed again under his breath and threw their bags over one shoulder. Hoisting Yusuf over his other one and grabbing his sword and the scimitar - which felt wrong in his hands - in his remaining hand.

Then he searched for a way out of their house. The front door had caught on fire and he was going to have to run through it to get them to safety.

Taking a deep breath, he tightened his grip on Yusuf and the weapons as he prepared to run through the fire. Sprinting toward the front door, he felt the flames lick his skin. The heat burned, white hot and heavy, until he felt the cool air caress him.

He was outside of their home.

Outside wasn’t any better than their home going up in flames. The screams of the people of Merv filled the air. He watched as soldiers went into people’s homes and destroyed everything they’d built. He made a move to help the neighbors they’d grown to love, but with Yusuf still dead and the small amount of belongings they owned in their bags, his goal was to leave the city and get as far as possible. 

There was so much chaos going on, that no one paid much attention to Nicolò as he weaved in and out of the houses of the beloved city. He decided to go down to the river, hoping that by then Yusuf would have woken up and they’d be able to help save the city dwellers. 

Shifting the sword and scimitar in his hand, Nicolò struggled to stay out of sight and walk with Yusuf on his back. He could feel the sticky blood brushing against his clothes and his stomach turned as he thought again about Yusuf not coming back to him.

He could see the river in the distance. As he neared it, he saw other people hiding in the banks, struggling to get across to safety. Continuing forward, he struggled to keep a hold of all of their belongings.

“Yusuf, please wake up. I don’t want to do this without you,” Nicolò murmured as he hid in the shadows of some vegetation as soldiers came trooping past. 

Finally reaching the banks of the river, Nicolò settled them far enough away from others that they wouldn’t be noticed and waited as Yusuf came to. It was only seconds after laying him down on the ground when Yusuf began to come back to life.

“Are you alright?” Nicolò asked, breathing a sigh of relief.

Yusuf stared up at him for a moment before nodding.

“I died?”

“You did.”

“Who were they?” Yusuf asked, sitting up and looking around where they were.

“I don’t know. They - they came in. Broke our door down. Our house is up in flames,” Nicolò said softly.

He rubbed a hand over his face and then tentatively touched Yusuf’s. He leaned in to his touch and Nicolò felt his stomach do a little flip-flop at the simple gesture. He wanted to caress the soft skin of his cheeks, but he wasn’t sure how Yusuf would react. Instead, he allowed his hand to drop and he turned his attention toward the path they had come down.

“The city is now up in flames,” Yusuf said woodenly.

Nicolò nodded and looked toward the smoke that was cutting its way across the sky. They could still hear the cries and screams and every so often they would hear a rustling of movement in the tall grass around them.

“We should move,” Nicolò said softly.

He looked over at Yusuf and waited for him to confirm that he was ready. As they looked at each other, he read the hopeless across his friend’s face. They would both rather go back to the city and help those they could. 

But Merv was on fire. 

All they could do now was watch. 

And that made Nicolò feel sick to his stomach.

This helplessness that rested inside him at the simple fact that no matter how many lives he was able to throw away, he couldn’t save everyone.

He looked toward Yusuf and read the exact emotion he was feeling in his features. He yearned to reach forward and take him in his arms, place a kiss on his lips, and tell him that it was okay.

But he wasn’t sure that it was.

No one would be able to survive the fire and destruction of the city. It would be better to get up and help anyone they could cross the river to freedom. 

And yet, neither of them moved.

Nicolò could plainly see Yusuf’s concern on his face. A protectiveness settled in his bones as he looked at him. Flashes of his dead face appeared in his mind and he reached a hand out to rest on his face. Needing to reassure himself that he was okay. 

That he was still with him.

Yusuf’s eyes glittered in the darkness and for the first time since he’d woken up, Nicolò felt safe. Not daring to make it more intimate than it already was, he reluctantly dropped his hand away.

“Come on,” Nicolò said softly.

Yusuf curled his fingers around Nicolò’s until their hands were clasped. He tried not to look surprised at the gesture, instead squeezing his hand back. 

Together, with their bags on their backs, they began to search for people they could help. When it was clear that they could only do so much, they made their way across the river and toward safety.

* * *

They walked through the night and well into the day. It was only as sunset approached did Yusuf ask if they could make camp. Neither of them had spoken much while they walked across the foreign lands farther and father from Merv. 

Sometimes Nicolò would look over at Yusuf in concern, wondering what he was thinking, but he always gave him a reassuring smile back. It might be tired and a little wilted at the edges, but Yusuf _always_ looked at him in contentment. 

But that didn’t calm Nicolò as much as he wished. He was glad Yusuf was okay, but he could feel his brain working in overdrive and the added worry of who had attacked Merv weighed heavily on him.

Nicolò was anxious at the idea of stopping. He didn’t think they had gotten far enough from the soldiers. But every time he looked at Yusuf, he looked more and more exhausted. 

He’d been quiet since their journey had started, lost in his thoughts. Nicolò would usually feel more concerned about his friend’s silence, but he was focused on getting them as far away from Merv as possible. 

He didn’t want to ever see Yusuf lifeless in his arms again. He knew that was improbable, but he could wish. Seeing Yusuf like that caused a lot of feelings to bubble to the surface, some of which he wasn’t sure how to deal with yet.

Some he didn’t want to deal with ever.

They made camp in a cluster of rocks to stay mostly hidden. As they set up, Nicolò made sure to place his bed roll at the little entry way of the rocks, intent on being the first one someone would see if they were attacked. 

“Nicolò, what are you doing?” Yusuf asked as he came over after doing a preliminary sweep of the area.

Nicolò glanced over at him and then back to his bedroll that he’d just been setting up. It was on the other side of the fire. 

A good distance away from Yusuf.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re - nevermind. Should I make us some dinner?” Yusuf asked, trying to sound jovial.

Nicolò nodded and began to look through their bags for the hastily grabbed food. He found a few fruits and vegetables and some dried meat. It wasn’t much, but if they rationed, they should be okay until they got to the next town. They’d run west, which meant they should come across Nishapur. 

Hopefully soon.

“Who do you think those people were?” Nicolò as he watched Yusuf begin to prepare their meal.

It was just like old times. Traveling on the road, keeping to the shadows of towns. Speaking to one another over the firelight into the inky black evenings. A deep feeling of sadness overwhelmed Nicolò as he thought about going back to a life where things were so uncertain.

Where they had to contend with bandits.

Where they had to fight to survive each and every day.

A life on the run.

“I don’t know Nicolò,” Yusuf said softly. He let out a little sigh and looked up at him with a weary expression. “You’d know more than I would. I died after all.”

Nicolò scowled at the statement, his mind retrieving the image of Yusuf bleeding out on their bed again. He looked over to their bedrolls on opposite ends of the fire and Nicolò felt a yearning to move his bedroll closer than it had ever been while they were traveling.

But he didn’t want to make Yusuf uncomfortable.

He’d only just become brave enough to touch him.

To reach out for him.

To caress him.

He didn’t want to ruin those simple, sweet gestures because he was anxious to protect him and wanted him close.

He’d be fine at the mouth of their little camp, ready to defend what belonged to him.

To them.

In the time since they had last lived a nomadic existence, Nicolò realized things had changed while they had been living together in Merv. Their sleeping arrangement would change now that they were back on the road again. Their eating habits would be different. There would no longer be lounging at the dinner table, casting Yusuf hidden looks while he was at the hearth. They’d need to spend their days surviving instead of basking in each other’s company. Living an uncertain life rather than a quiet one. 

Nicolò frowned deeply and then turned back to Yusuf.

“It’s strange to be back here. Camping together,” Nicolò said bypassing the subject of Yusuf’s death.

Yusuf chuckled darkly, “it had to happen sometime, I suppose.”

Nicolò was quiet at that. He wanted to tell Yusuf to move closer to him, to protect him. But the words stuck in his throat, fear clogging their path out. He wanted to tell Yusuf that they’d be okay. But he knew they had yet to figure out so many things. He wanted to tell Yusuf that they’d be able to build a life again. But he wasn’t sure if Yusuf even wanted to continue traveling with him. It had been 20 years after all, he didn’t want to assume...

“It’s going to be okay,” Nicolò murmured, finally deciding on something safe to say.

“Well, of course, you’re here,” Yusuf said as if it was the simplest thing in the whole world.

Nicolò cast him a look and Yusuf grinned in response. 

“So where shall we go next?” Yusuf asked as he began to roast the vegetables.

Nicolò frowned at the question, his mind going back toward the screams of the people in Merv. Of how they’d left them without helping. A twist of guilt came over him in his gut. Trying to swallow it down, it rested there thick and heavy until he felt as if it was crawling through his body. Entering his veins and freezing his insides. He had wanted to help… 

But if he had to choose between Yusuf and anybody else in the entire world, he’d always choose Yusuf. 

No question. 

Yusuf was his light in the darkness. He was his North star when he was lost. He was his water on a desert island. He’d sacrifice a thousand people to make sure Yusuf was safe.

And that scared him.

It filled him with guilt.

To give someone that much power over him…

And yet, he had no idea.

No clue of how Nicolò really felt.

“I’d like to help some people,” he rasped out.

“I won’t go back to the Crusades, Nicolò,” Yusuf said looking away. 

Nicolò shook his head, but before he could get his answer out, Yusuf continued to speak.

“You know, if you want...you can go off and do what you desire to do. We’ve been traveling together for a long time, I wouldn’t - I wouldn’t hold it against you if you wanted to do something else,” Yusuf whispered.

Nicolò closed his mouth with an audible snap. He stared at Yusuf who was watching him closely.

“Do you want to leave me?” Nicolò asked finally.

Yusuf shook his head, “no, I would be - I’d like to - I’ll travel with you as long as you want me to.”

Nicolò stared at him for a long moment and then took a deep breath and let it out. He wasn’t sure what to say to that. He obviously would travel with Yusuf for the end of their days. He bit his lip as he contemplated telling him that, but the words wouldn’t form.

“But I don’t want to go back to the Holy Land. I’m not - I’m not ready--” Yusuf stumbled out.

Nicolò reached a hand forward and rested it on his leg. “We can go somewhere else. Let’s go to the north? I think you may like snow,”

Yusuf gave him a long hard look, “you want to help people.”

“But _you_ don’t want to go back to war.”

“Do you think me weak?” Yusuf asked softly.

Nicolò drew his hand back and looked at him in confusion. “Weak? You?”

“I don’t want to go back to war. I was killed--”

“Yusuf, we spent 100 years killing each other. I know what you are and it’s not weak.”

“You had to carry me to the river. I’m slowing you down. Perhaps, it would be easier if you left me,” Yusuf said quietly.

Nicolò frowned and scooted closer to him, so their sides were pressed together. “I’m not leaving you.”

“But--”

“I _’m not leaving you_. I have no interest to leave you. Forever. We’re - we’re a team. We make our decisions together. That’s it,” Nicolò said defiantly.

Yusuf gave him a long look and then nodded. “Okay.” 

Nicolò nodded and picked up the food Yusuf had left off making.

“That was your first time saving me, you know,” Yusuf said softly.

“And it won’t be the last,” Nicolò said without looking up.

He could hear the smile in Yusuf’s voice when he said, “we should start practicing swordplay again. Stay vigilant.”

Nicolò glanced over at him and grinned largely at Yusuf’s teasing look. Without realizing what he was doing, he placed his hand in Yusuf’s and squeezed it reassuringly. Yusuf’s dark eyes burned into him and he longed to reach forward and close the gap between them. Instead, he blinked rapidly, turned away, and went back to making dinner. A lightness to each gesture he did. Somehow he knew that even though they had already been traveling together for 20 years, this was the first time they had solidified their future together.

He wouldn’t have to worry about Yusuf leaving one day. 

He wanted to be here.

Wanted to be with him.

* * *

_Palermo 1250_

When they first arrived in Palermo, Yusuf knew that Nico was nervous about going back to Europe. He hadn’t been back since he left for the Holy Land over a 100 years ago - almost 200 at this point. While Palermo and Genoa were worlds apart, Yusuf knew he was closer to home than he had been for a long time. Palermo was under the Holy Roman Empire and Genoa was its own country, but with only a few weeks to travel, Nico would be home. 

He tried to make him feel more at ease about journeying back toward Europe. By making him laugh and drawing silly pictures of the people they saw while journeying, Yusuf could barely crack through the discomfort that was plainly showcased on his face.

When they had first landed in Palermo after their ship docked in the port, Yusuf had taken Nico by the arm and led him to a less populated area.

“Nico, my friend, we don’t - this is just another new adventure that we’re facing together,” Yusuf said tentatively.

Nico gave him a calm smile and patted his arm, “You worry too much, Yusuf.”

Yusuf laughed, “I only worry about you.”

That got Nico to crack a real smile and the two of them were off to find a place to stay for the night. They had some money saved up, but Yusuf knew they’d have to find something fast to ensure they didn’t run through their savings.

They stayed in an inn that night and as luck would have it, they found a group of merchants who were traveling up to Florence to bring goods to the people there. They needed bodyguards to help them keep the goods safe from bandits. And as quickly as the words had left the man’s mouth, Yusuf was offering to escort them with Nico.

And thus began their time as bodyguards to merchants across Europe.

They traveled into Germany and France. They explored the northern part of Italy, but they never once went near Genoa.

After spending 10 years traveling the roads to keep the merchants safe, one night Yusuf asked Nico if he wanted to go to Genoa.

“Why?” Nico asked.

“Because it’s your home,” Yusuf replied.

Nico blinked and gave him a funny look before he responded, “you’re my home.”

Yusuf felt like his heart was going to slide out of his chest at the declaration and not for the first time he yearned to lean forward and close the distance between them. 

But Nico was a man of God and he didn’t want to overstep his boundaries.

How awkward and uncomfortable would it be if he had to spend the rest of eternity with someone who turned him down?

Yusuf didn’t want to find out.

“Oh?” he gasped out instead.

Nico smiled softly and turned back to the little fire they had built. They were somewhere near Florence on their way back to Palermo with a group of merchants. Everyone had headed to their own tents for the night while they stayed up and watched over the camp.

But the way Nico was looking at him over the fire, Yusuf felt like they were the only two in the world. 

* * *

Palermo was a big enough city that it was easy to get lost in the shuffle, it helped that a lot of their merchants were constantly moving around to deliver goods around the country. While they did come across the same people every now and again, no one really paid them much attention. It helped that they were constantly moving around, even staying for a few years in a small fishing village hidden between two great mountains. It hardly had that many people, but it was beautiful and Yusuf instantly fell in love with the sandy beaches and the crashing waves. It had been a long time since he’d seen the water and he’d frequently come to watch the sunrise and sketch.

Sometimes Nico would accompany him.

Other times, they’d come down to the beach to eat a picnic dinner.

It was quiet, secluded, and hard to get to, so Yusuf hoped that they wouldn’t have to worry about any other invasions.

But in the end, they always came back to Palermo. Yusuf thought that Nico enjoyed helping and keeping safe the people they came across. It was something that brought him joy to protect others.

Yusuf liked it too, but mostly, he liked how in awe Nico always became when they helped someone.

He enjoyed other parts about helping the people they met. He liked to hear their stories, gain their views on the world to widen his own. He liked to compare cultures and learn new things from these people who they helped. But mostly, he liked knowing that they were able to make these people feel safe - make them smile again even in the darkest of times.

He still wasn’t sure if he believed in fate (the story of the red thread still lingered with him.) but he did believe that God meant for them to help people see the good in this world.

And there was good in this world, even if it was difficult to see. 

How could there not be when the world had given him Nicolò?

It was between missions of journeying to the north when one day Yusuf went to draw in his notebook. He’d been working on one of Nico cooking near the fire, something he’d taken to doing more than Yusuf these days since he was eager to experiment with different Mediterranean dishes. Yusuf wasn’t going to stop him, he liked that Nico had found something he enjoyed - and was good at - and it was exciting to see how thrilled he got when something came out well.

Yusuf liked to think that he’d shown Nico how fun cooking could be, but he knew he couldn’t take all of the credit. All he could do was show him the best spices to purchase and buy him the best produces and meats to use to create his dishes.

He was out that night while Yusuf settled in to sketch. He’d gone out to the market to stock up on some items. He also thought he was talking to the one of the women at the stalls who kept giving him recipes to try. Yusuf knew she had a little crush on him, but Nico hadn’t seemed to realize it yet.

He wondered if he’d return her feelings when he did realize it.

But Yusuf didn’t have to worry about those types of things with Nico, not when he was a man of God and didn’t take bedfellows.

So he tried to squash down the familiar burning in his stomach when he thought of Nico with someone who wasn’t him. 

Instead, he decided to focus on sketching in his notebook and perhaps writing a poem. He’d had a line that wouldn’t leave his mind and he wanted to see what else he could create from it.

_You are my home._

And Nicolò didn’t think he was poetic.

Yusuf scoffed as he thumbed through the notebook at how Nico didn’t even realize the effects he had on him.

While they traveled the paths with the merchants, he’d considered finding his own bedfellows to occupy his time. Just as a distraction from the bubbling of feelings that sat in his heart. He’d come close to falling into bed with a saucy woman who had wide brown eyes and pouty lips, but when he looked at her, all he could think of was Nico.

He’d considered bedding a handsome man because that’s what he was more inclined toward, although he wasn’t picky as long as he liked the person.

But the man’s eyes were too dark, his hair too light, and his height too tall. He wasn’t what he was looking for.

And as much as he wanted a distraction, he knew that bedding a man or a woman wasn't going to get rid of these feelings that stuck in his mind and his heart. Growing day by day 

He wasn’t sure when it started - these feelings for Nicolò - but they weren’t going away.

And he was smart enough to realize that sleeping with someone who wasn’t Nico wouldn’t be the magical medicine he needed to get rid of them.

He’d been around long enough to know that by now.

It probably helped that he knew Nico wasn’t out there finding pleasures in people who weren’t him.

So he took care of his needs by himself with Nico at the forefront of his mind. Although, there had been a few occasions when he’d almost been caught with his hand in the sweets jar, which caused him not to look at Nico for almost a month.

_Where are they? Did I lose them again?_

Yusuf frowned as he thumbed through his drawings again, unable to find the one he’d just finished.

He had thought he was done, but there were a few finishing touches he wanted to do on it to make sure that it was perfect. He’d even considered showing this one to Nico. He was all for showing his work to him, except when he’d drawn him. Trees, people, landscapes, mosques, temples, or churches, he was all for handing over his artwork, but the pictures of Nicolò he was intent on keeping to himself.

Just like his poetry.

His frown deepened when he thumbed through his notebook a third time and didn’t find the latest picture. In fact, he also noticed that a poem he’d recently written was missing too.

And a drawing of Nico’s hands.

This was the fifth time he’d noticed that his drawings and his poetry were missing. He knew that he’d placed them back in his notebook since the book from the bandit was now in Nico’s possession. 

After they left Merv, Nico had been diligent in grabbing as many necessities as he could. However, he had stopped and grabbed Yusuf’s items to draw with and he’d forever be grateful for that. The issue was that the book had all of Yusuf’s favorite drawings in it. He’d had to wait until Nico was sleeping one night to sift through the book and pull them out. He’d stuffed them in his notebook for safe keeping, but he was nervous about moving them into another book. 

Even after he bought another notebook once he filled the last one, he kept all of his drawings in the original one. He was nervous about the drawings getting in the wrong hands - not that Nico seeing his drawings were wrong - he just didn’t want to reveal to him how he felt through his drawings.

He wasn’t sure how Nico would react to him if he told him.

But he didn’t want to show him either.

It was just easier to be his friend.

From afar.

He’d rather them be friends then have to worry about making him feel uncomfortable for the next century. Knowing how shy Nico was, that’s how long it would take for him to get over his friend having, well, wanting to kiss him.

More than just kiss him.

He wanted to hold him.

With romantic intentions.

And Yusuf wasn’t sure yet how to tell him that.

If he was even going to tell him that.

It was probably better as a secret.

“Where are those drawings?” Yusuf muttered sifting through both notebooks now. He couldn’t find those three missing items anywhere. 

He turned to Nico’s pile of books and wondered if perhaps somehow they had ended up over there.

_What if Nico had found them?_

He moved over to the pile of books near his bed and began to thumb through each individual one. He got to the bottom of the pile and pulled out the bandit’s book. He was just about to open it, when Nico burst through the door, his hands full of items from the market.

Yusuf hurried over to help him, the book forgotten on the bed.

He took the produces from him and placed them on their small table.

“Did you clean out the market stalls?” Yusuf asked, laughing as some of the vegetables began to roll across the table.

Nico matched his chuckle and clasped a hand on the back of his neck, gently caressing the skin there.

“I have a new recipe to try. Gilda, the woman at the market--”

“Yes, yes, I know,” Yusuf said, trying to keep the irritation from his voice at the mention of the woman who had a crush on Nicolò.

“She told me of a recipe to try for you. She says you’ll be delighted with it,” Nico said smiling widely at him.

Yusuf huffed, but he couldn’t hold on to his irritation when Nico was smiling like that.

“Prepare to be amazed,” Nico said as he began to start chopping the vegetables.

Yusuf watched him for a moment and then stepped in to begin to help him, the drawings and the book all but forgotten as his attention was solely focused on Nicolò. 

* * *

A few days later, Nico asked Yusuf to visit the market while he was out helping a neighbor with their garden and then going fishing with some neighbors for their dinner. Yusuf was on his way to go pick up the various fruits and vegetables that Nico had requested of him when he saw a familiar dark head bobbing toward him in the crowd.

“Yusuf!” she called out waving to him.

Yusuf plastered on a smile as he approached Gilda, caught off guard by her wide grin and inviting eyes. He hadn’t even realized that she knew who he was, thinking that she only had eyes for Nicolò. 

It wasn’t that he disliked her. She was nice enough. It was just that every time he ran into her, an unfamiliar squirming began in his stomach. Hot and angry. A reminder that there were still some rough areas he wanted to smooth out with Nicolò. Although, he knew he was too much of a chicken shit to discuss those things with him.

Greeting her in flawless Italian, she let out a little giggle in response.

“How are you today?” she asked, tightening her hold on her little basket in her arms.

“Well, as I hope you are too,” he said charismatically.

Her smile widened and she ducked her head a little before asking. “And Nicolò? I trust 

he is well too?”

That burning and squirming heat escalated in his stomach when Nicolò’s name left her lips. Swallowing down the discomfort, he said, “Of course, of course. The dinner he made the other night was delicious. Your recipe, no doubt?”

She blushed and nodded, “I’m glad you enjoyed it. He was nervous that it wouldn’t be to your tastes. He kept asking me again and again how much oregano to use. I told him that it depends on taste and he mentioned how much you love to use spices in your own cooking.”

He found himself giving her a real smile at the laughter in her tone when describing Nicolò.

“He’s such a lovely man. It’s nice to see the two of you taking such good care of each other. I can tell he adores you so,” she said with a knowing smile on her lips.

Yusuf felt his stomach dip at her words and he resisted the desire to ask her what exactly she meant by that. Had Nicolò told her something? Did she know something he didn’t?

Instead he said, “yes, well, I’m lucky to have found him. He’s a dear friend.”

She nodded slowly and pursued her lips in thought as she considered what to say next. At first he was sure she was going to bring up finding Nicolò someone who appreciated and loved him as he should be loved. 

He wouldn’t argue with that because he thought that Nicolò _did_ deserve someone great. Someone who enjoyed all of his little mannerisms. Someone who could read every little raise of his eyebrow or tilt of his mouth. Someone who appreciated him and lo--

“You know, I’ve had many friends throughout my years. I’m older than I look,” she gave him a little wink at that.

He grinned widely wanting to tell her that _he_ was much older too. She’d never be able to tell that he was only a few years shy of his 200th birthday. Instead, he waited patiently for her to finish her thought.

“But I’ve never had a friend who looks at me quite the way your Nicolò looks at you. It’s - it’s refreshing to see such care and love in this world. Especially when there’s so much hatred and destruction,” she said looking into his eyes and giving a little nod. “I hope you forgive me for saying so, but the way he talks about you - well, I wish I could find a man who looks and talks about me like that too.”

Yusuf was flabbergasted by her statement and he wasn’t sure what to say to it. She must be mistaken. Nico didn’t have any feelings for him besides that of friendship. And surely, his feelings weren’t so obvious that a virtual stranger could read them on his face. 

_Unless_ , he told her something he hadn’t revealed to Yusuf. Which seemed preposterous since Nicolò told him everything.

Well, almost everything.

“I’m sorry, I can tell that I shouldn’t have said anything. I know that it can be - well, we all have our preferences, don’t we? I just wanted to tell you that you’re a lucky man for how deeply Nicolò cares for you. I can see it in his eyes, the way he talks about you...it’s like - like you were meant to be,” she gave a little shrug and almost a teasing look came across her features as she added, “one could get jealous of the love between you too.”

Yusuf opened his mouth to respond. He wasn’t sure what to say perhaps a ‘thanks’ or ‘you have it all wrong’ maybe even a ‘we’re just friends! He doesn’t see me like that.’ But instead he closed his mouth and gave her a tight-lipped smile.

She reached forward and patted him on his hand before moving around him and going about her day. “Don’t let him go, Yusuf. I’ll see you soon,” and with that she was walking past him and down the street.

He stood there in the middle of the road feeling as if he’d stepped in quicksand. He was so shocked by the transaction he’d just had, it took a man hurrying down the road with his donkey and wagon full of lemons to finally get him to unfreeze.

He kept repeating their conversation, unable to comprehend what had made her say those things. He’d figured that perhaps she wanted to talk about the best way to get Nico to ask her on a date.

But instead she alluded to - well, she alluded to - _that_ ! It was preposterous to think that - that _Nicolò_ had those feelings for _him_.

He was a man of God.

He’d made clear he had no interests in anything romantic.

Gilda must have only seen their _friendship_ and thought it was something of a romantic nature. That had to be it.

She was just assuming.

There was no way he’d been so blind he’d missed Nico casting him looks of longing and pining. 

He’d have noticed!

He hoped he’d have noticed.

He watched him all the time when they were together and he _never_ gave him a clue as to his inner feelings.

Maybe he touched him on the arm or they held hands, but that was just a sign of

friendship. 

Wasn’t it?

Nico couldn’t possibly…

Yusuf began to hurry home knowing that Nico was still out for the day. He needed to find some proof that Nico had these supposed feelings that Gilda had alluded to. Just some clue to show him that Nico felt more than friendship toward him.

If he could find one thing, he’d know the truth and then he could do something about it. Before, he’d been too afraid to damage their friendship, but if he could just find something that proved he felt the same, maybe then they could talk about things. 

Yusuf could tell him how he truly felt.

When he got home, Yusuf wasn’t sure where to start to look for clues to alert him to Nicolò’s feelings. He didn’t keep a journal. He didn’t write poetry. He barely ever used words to talk about his feelings.

He didn’t really talk about his feelings.

He was a subtle man.

With expressions that took years for Yusuf to figure out.

So finding some sort of clue that Nicolò had feelings for him was going to be much more difficult than he thought. Going to sit on the bed, he sighed heavily and put his head in his hands so he could think. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the bandit’s book laying neatly on Nico’s bedside table.

He remembered how he’d meant to look through there to find the missing drawings and poems he’d done a few days prior. If he was going to find a clue about anything Nico related, it would be in a book. So he grabbed the top book out of the three on the bedside table and began to look through it. There was nothing in the first book, so he moved on to the second. There was nothing in there either. A few notes in the margins and a list in the very back for a recipe he wanted to try of a baked good.

The last book - the bandit’s book - he opened and it immediately flipped to a page where a piece of parchment fell out. It landed on his lap and with shaky fingers Yusuf opened it with baited breath.

He already knew what it was without him having to open it and yet he needed to see it with his own two eyes. His own handwriting stared back at him.

_So serious and yet so playful_

_A secret behind your cerulean eyes_

_Or do I see silver?_

_Dare I say, viridescent?_

_Smooth skin that sings to me_

_I wish I had the courage to reach forward_

_I swear upon the heavens that I will speak to you_

_You quicken my heartbeat with one word_

_I wish you were mine_

_For all of eternity_

He read over the poem he’d written 30 years ago after they had left Merv. He’d taken out the line about the sun reflecting and created another poem that he’d - _yep, there it was on the other side of the paper_. 

_There’s a red thread that binds us_

_Do you think we’re fated as I do?_

_I wish to tell you the secret in my heart_

_And yet, I worry you see me as a friend_

_As the sun reflects off your features_

_I look into your eyes with baited breath_

_Blue waters stare back at me_

_Leaving me feeling warm_

_Can you see my secret?_

_Can you hear my heart beating?_

_Can you tell that I’m yours?_

_As you are mine_

He’d written that poem after not knowing how to digest the red thread story. It had stuck with him, even all these years later. This question about whether or not they were fated to be wouldn’t leave him, so he’d written about it. Of course, he’d drawn an image of Nico sleeping while they were on the road to Palermo to pair with it. He’d thought that those had been lost to time. 

But alas, Nico had taken them and hid them in the bandit’s book. The first question he wondered was: _why?_ Why would Nico do such a thing? But paired with the information from Gilda, the mystery was slowly being solved.

Just like the mystery from all those years ago when Nicolò and him had their first fight and he’d made a callous comment about his poetry - which he still hadn’t shown him - and he’d figured out he’d gone through his stuff. He knew that there was something off back then, but with Gilda’s words, he now understood.

He knew he should feel angry about it, and yet, all he could feel was his heart beating almost out of his chest..

Beginning to flip through the book some more, he found the images he’d thought he’d lost recently and a few from deeper in the past. He’d found all of the drawings he’d assumed vanished by the time he’d reached the end of the book and a few poems to boot.

He put the pile of drawings and poetry on the bed beside him and stared down at the bandit’s book.

This was the sign he was looking for wasn’t it?

He’d needed something to signify that Nico had feelings for him.

This was it, right?

And yet, he still wasn’t convinced. Not until he heard his feelings from Nicolò’s own lips would he believe that he cared about him as more than a friend. Staring down at the first poem he’d written about Nico, he contemplated how he could get his shy friend to finally reveal his adoration for him. 

It had taken nearly 50 years of traveling together to get to a good place in their friendship, where they felt comfortable around one another and cared about what each other thought. Where they protected one another and trusted each other. He didn’t want to undo all of that if he wasn’t sure about how he felt. 

Yusuf sighed and stared at the drawings on the parchment and the delicate words he’d written in Arabic.

And then an idea came to him.

He smiled softly to himself as he began to put the drawings and poems back in the bandits book. Already impatiently waiting for Nico to come home.

* * *

Nicolò came home as the sun began to set. He was tired from his day on the water and was looking forward to settling down for the night in his and Yusuf’s comfortable bed to a dreamless sleep.

When he got home, he found their little home filled with delicious smells and Yusuf was at the hearth with a pot.

“Did you catch any fish?” Yusuf asked, glancing over his shoulder at him.

Nicolò smiled and opened the cloth bag he’d brought with him to carry the fish back. “A few. There’s a fish soup that Gilda--”

“No, no, I’m cooking for you tonight, my friend,” Yusuf said, waving him away. “You’ve had a long day and I intend for you to rest.”

Nicolò quirked an eyebrow at him, but he was tired and unwilling to quell about who was cooking dinner for whom. Since he’d begun to get into cooking he found that he deeply enjoyed the little noises of approval that Yusuf let out. To see that smile on his lips and hear that content sigh when he scraped his plate clean produced warm flutterings in his stomach. 

It was nice to bring a smile to Yusuf’s lips with what he could create.

After all, Yusuf brought a smile to his face every day, almost all the time. The least he could do was return the favor, even if it was with food.

Although, he did remember a long time ago his mother telling him that food was the way to a person’s heart. Feed them a delicious meal and they’ll thank you for eternity, his mother had told him.

So while he knew he had a special place in Yusuf’s heart, it was better to stake his claim and make sure no one else took it from him. And if he had to play dirty by showing off for Yusuf, then he was okay with it. 

After all, Yusuf couldn’t be replaced in his heart.

“Sit sit, Nico. Get comfortable,” Yusuf said, waving him toward the table.

Nicolò chuckled and began to take out the fish to preserve it so they wouldn’t get sick. He decided to take the fish outside to avoid making a mess and began to get to work on curing it to ensure that it stayed fresh. He had caught four fish while he was out with their neighbors and he was through with the first two when Yusuf came outside with a glass of wine for the both of them.

Nicolò raised his eyebrows in surprise when he saw that there were two glasses instead of just the one that he sometimes had at the end of a long day. He tried to be cognizant of Yusuf’s lack of a desire to drink, but sometimes it was nice to have wine while watching the sunset in their little yard.

“What’s this?” Nicolò asked in surprise.

“I figured we could celebrate,” Yusuf said, averting his eyes. 

“Celebrate what?”

Feeling confused, Nicolò watched Yusuf shrug in response and take a sip. Nicolò’s eyes widened in shock. He could count on one hand when he’d seen Yusuf drink something alcoholic. And this time still kept him on one hand.

“You don’t drink,” Nicolò stated as Yusuf pushed the goblet into his hand.

“So? Rules are meant to be broken, my friend,” Yusuf said with a wink.

Nicolò frowned, “but what are we celebrating?”

“Fate! For bringing us together.”

“Fate? Since when do you believe in fate?”

“Since I met you,” Yusuf said and then nodded to his cup. “Aren’t you going to partake?”

“I - yes, but--”

“Nico, we’ve been alive for almost 200 years. We’ve been traveling together for nearly a quarter of that. We never really stop and think about everything that’s happened to us and I got to thinking--”

“You got to thinking--?”

“Yes, I got to thinking about everything we’ve been through. Enemies to friends. And I know we usually celebrate our anniversary of traveling together, but I think we should start celebrating our anniversary of how far we’ve also come together. We’ve been through so much. You mean the world to me and I wanted to make sure you understand that,” Yusuf said sincerely.

Nicolò blinked slowly as he took in exactly what Yusuf was telling him. He wasn’t sure what to say to him other than he appreciated him too and he meant the world to him as well. But he still thought it was strange that he was acting, well, like this.

Like he’d just been told the Crusades have ended for good.

“Have you been drinking the wine before I came home?” Nicolò asked after a moment.

Yusuf laughed and shook his head before cheersing their goblets together.

“I heard a story some time ago about two people who were tied together by the red thread story. I know that you believe in fate and destiny, Nico, but--”

“We can’t die _and_ we found each other. What more proof do you need?” Nicolò asked, bewildered. “Now, what’s this story about the red thread?”

Yusuf bit his lip and for a moment he looked hesitant before he took a deep breath and began to tell him the story.

He listened as he told him about the boy and the girl in the market. How the old wise man told the boy he was fated to marry that girl. The enemies turned lovers… 

Midway through the story, Nicolò began to feel a little panicked that Yusuf was leading up to something more than just celebrating their journey together. (Although, to be fair, he wasn’t sure if he bought that reason for why Yusuf was so joyous.) He was trying to sweeten Nicolò up before he broke some terrible news to him. 

Perhaps he’d looked through the bandit’s book and found all the drawings and poems he’d been coveting from him.

He couldn’t help it. He loved Yusuf’s work. He loved reading what he was working on or seeing the pictures he drew. He loved seeing the world through Yusuf’s eyes. It was magnificent. Sometimes, he’d flip through the book while Yusuf was out or asleep. He’d look through the poems and drawings and yearn for them to be love poems written to him. He knew that Yusuf liked drawing him - it was clear from the amount of pictures he drew of him - but he figured it was because they were always together and he liked to think he was a better subject than a fruit bowl or the fireplace or a _woman in the market_. 

They were always with each other, what else would Yusuf draw?

Perhaps he was going to scold him for going through his things - _again_ . Perhaps he was going to tell him that he’d figured out that he was - was - _he had feelings for him_. Perhaps he was going to tell him that he didn’t return those feelings but he was trying to let him down easy.

Nicolò felt sick as he waited with baited breath for Yusuf to shatter his heart in two. 

“They were meant to be,” Yusuf finished looking directly into Nicolò’s eyes.

Nicolò opened his mouth to respond, but he wasn’t sure what he was expected to say to that. It seemed as if Yusuf was trying to say something else with those words and that peculiar look in his eyes. Nicolò didn’t know what it was he was supposed to understand.

“Yusuf--”

“Nicolò, I wish I had the courage to reach forward. You’ve always been so serious and yet so playful. I believe that we’re fated, like the red thread story. I have wished for a long time to tell you the secret in my heart. And yet, I have worried that you only see me as a friend, but I wish you were--”

“Yusuf! Nicolò! We need your help! There’s a fight!” 

For a long moment, Nicolò considered ignoring the yell from one of their neighbors - Giovanni - to hear what Yusuf was going to finish saying. He could hardly breathe from waiting for Yusuf to finish his sentence. And yet, he watched as Yusuf closed his eyes for a brief moment and took a step away from Nicolò, an apology clear on his face before looking over their fence to Giovanni.

“Where?”

“The tavern at the bottom of the hill! An army of soldiers have infiltrated Palermo!” Giovanni yelled.

Nicolò let out the tiniest sigh of irritation before he looked back at Yusuf who looked just as frustrated.

“To be continued, my friend,” Yusuf gave him a stiff smile before setting his goblet down and darting inside their home for their weapons.

Nicolò sighed and looked up at the blue sky above him. Muttering a prayer to God to give him strength, he hurried after Yusuf. 

Making their way out of their house, down the hill after Giovanni and a few of their other neighbors, they came to the tavern they frequented and burst in to find not a group of soldiers but two women - the Greek Goddess and the Eastern Princess.

He felt Yusuf freeze beside him and he looked around the establishment to see the hoard of groaning men at their feet. They didn’t have their weapons out, they must’ve taken them down with their fists.

With a flash of a saucy grin, the two women turned to them in unison.

“What took you so long?” The Eastern one asked.

Yusuf and Nicolò exchanged a look before they were pushed out of the way by their neighbors who attempted to attack the women. But quick as a flash, the two worked in-sync to take each one out until the four of them were the last standing. The two men didn’t need to be told to follow after them as they took their leave of the tavern.

Something inside Nicolò told him that things were going to change very fast, whether he wanted them to or not. 

And yet, despite the excitement that they’d just witnessed, he yearned to hear the rest of what Yusuf was going to say. Because as life altering as meeting the two women from their dreams were, he knew the poetry Yusuf had just recited to him was even more important.

Excerpts from _his_ poetry. 

The poetry he’d thought had been written for other people or just because had actually always been written for him. 

It had _all_ been written for him.

Those _drawings_ had been _for_ him.

Yusuf had been trying to tell him his feelings all along.

And Nicolò had been too blind to see it.

And that was really what left Nicolò reeling.


	5. Two Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yusuf and Nicolò finally figure out their feelings for each other. 
> 
> Please Note: Rating went up to E here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Thank you so much to those who have commented, kudoed, and bookmarked! Or to those who just stopped by for a read. You guys are fantastic and I'm so happy that you like the story! 
> 
> Please note that the rating for the story went up to E. This is the only E chapter if you don't like those types of things. I don't want to ruin the chapter, but if you don't like smut, then you'll know when to stop. There's a page break, so just skip ahead to the way bottom.
> 
> Enjoy!

_ “This love wounds my heart _

_ with a sweet taste, so gently, _

_ I die of grief a hundred times a day _

_ and a hundred times revive with joy. _

_ My pain seems beautiful, _

_ this pain is worth more than any pleasure; _

_ and since I find this bad so good, _

_ how good will be the good when this suffering is done.” _

_ ~Bernart de Ventadorn _

* * *

_ Palermo 1250 _

Yusuf’s heart was racing as they hurried back to their hut with the Greek Goddess and the Eastern Princess following them. 

_ What had they just gotten themselves into? _

He somehow knew these two women were like them, based on the dreams he and Nicolò had. 

_ But how could they know to trust them?  _

It had been a long time since he had to extend this type of trust to someone else and he wasn’t sure if he could give it willingly.

Trusting Nicolò had taken decades after all. 

Many years had passed before they figured out that their dreams were linked. Initially, Yusuf would only share dreams he had that were related to the Crusades - the war and torture and blood he’d seen. Most of the time he’d been too embarrassed to reveal his subconscious at all. But when he did, he described dreams about that time he was searching - or hunting - for Nicolò. 

The only reason they found out that they shared dreams of the same women was because Nicolò had gone into explicit detail one night - Yusuf thought it sounded more like a night terror - when one of the women was murdered while the other watched and waited for her to come back to life. 

Yusuf distinctly remembered his tears shining in his eyes as he revealed piece by piece what he’d seen while asleep.

He’d been so distraught that night and it had taken Yusuf awhile to get the dream out of him. At first, he’d assumed the dream was of war, but when he’d heard the details, he could see the fear in Nicolò’s eyes, hear the sadness in his tone.

That’s what stuck with him.

But neither of them had thought they were  _ real _ . 

While looking back on the amount of dreams Yusuf had of Nicolò before they formed their truce, he should’ve guessed that was the case.

None of this was coincidence.

But the blind need that accompanied his search for Nicolò was absent with the women. His thought process was more that if they found each other, then they found each other. Whereas his desire to find Nicolò had been born from a need that had manifested in the depths of his mind and heart.

Now he realized why he had that view of the women. 

He tried to catch Nico’s eye, but his gaze was focused straight ahead. His jaw was clamped shut and his bright eyes were narrowed in that way they got when he was completely focused on a task at hand. 

Willing him to turn to him, Yusuf craved to find out what he was thinking about this whole mess they were now involved in. If he could better understand Nico’s thoughts, maybe it would help him sort out his own emotions. They always relied on each other to make decisions when it came to their next steps, but without the comfort of knowing where Nico was coming from, he felt like he was lost at sea.

Not to mention he had just poured his heart out to him before they had been interrupted. He was a bit - okay,  _ extremely _ \- concerned to know how that was going to change their personal dynamic.

Especially when the overall dynamic was in motion.

He just wanted to know what he was thinking.

Whether it was about the women, his feelings, or even about leaving Palermo, he wasn’t picky, he just needed to stay grounded.

Trying to lock eyes with Nico again, Yusuf almost let out a sigh of frustration when he continued to avoid his gaze. 

Was he truly keeping his gaze away because of the lines of the poem he’d said to him or was it because of the women? 

Was he embarrassed by what had happened between them or was he feeling as overwhelmed as Yusuf? 

Or was it something else? Like the infamous Catholic guilt he was trying to wade through?

Yusuf silently cursed himself. His own feelings may make Nico feel uncomfortable. He hadn’t thought of that until now. Nico may think he was pushing himself on him and he was much too kind to turn him away. After all, they only had each other and Yusuf knew that Nico cared about him in a friendly sort of manner. What if he didn’t want to hurt his feelings and he was trying to come up with a way to let him down gently?

Bile rose in his throat at the thought.

If only he could see his features.

As they neared their home, Yusuf felt a familiar sinking sensation that he now associated with every time they had to dash into the night away from the little life they’d built together. 

Their future was unknown, but he did know it wasn’t in Palermo. Not after what the two women had done to their neighbors. It would be difficult to explain how they knew the women and it would be easier to just leave.

Sometimes it seemed leaving was all they did.

“What happened?” Nicolò asked as they neared their home.

The Greek answered him automatically, “we weren’t exactly welcomed.”

Nicolò looked over at Yusuf with a slight raise of his eyebrow and Yusuf took that as his cue to ask the next question. Silently thanking  _ Allah  _ that Nico was finally casting his gaze toward him. 

_ At least they could still rely on each other.  _

_ For now. _

Yusuf tried to ignore his inner negativity as he finally found his voice.

“And how do we...know each other?”

“You haven’t dreamed of us?” The taller one asked her hand going toward her sword.

Yusuf quickly reassured her that he had, “we just - we didn’t realize you were, well,  _ real _ .”

“Our dreams tell us about our future. You should be more attuned to them,” she snipped.

Yusuf looked over at Nicolò who was focused on hurrying toward their home, but he could see the slight widening of his eyes at the declaration. 

_ What was he thinking? _

Was he surprised that their dreams meant more than they thought? Or had he dreamt something that was causing him to pause? Something less than savory or something dismal if it came to pass?

Not for the first time, he wished that he knew what Nicolo dreamt of.

But at the idea of spilling his own - sometimes very private - dreams, he felt a nervousness overtake him.

“We’re meant to find each other. Our dreams help us make sure that it comes to fruition,” the Eastern woman answered.

That got Nicolò’s attention and he slowed down enough to lock eyes with Yusuf. His heart sped up and he knew it was from the shorter woman’s declaration. She was alluding to the fact that they were  _ fated  _ to find one another. 

Just like the story.

Just like Nico had always said.

He could clearly see the excitement in Nicolò’s eyes and he knew that an ‘I told you so’ was coming soon. In response, he sent him his own raised eyebrows and a little smirk that clearly said, ‘later.’

As Nicolò turned away from him, Yusuf was able to focus on the influx of feelings that threatened to confuse him. Curiosity, happiness, and hesitation filled his heart as he turned over her words. His mind flashed back to the pleasant evening they were going to have together. How he had imagined that after he proclaimed his heart to Nicolò, he’d reveal his own feelings. And maybe, well, Yusuf had been hoping for a simple kiss at the least.

Obviously, he wanted more, but a kiss would do.

He’d thought about what Nicolò’s lips would feel like many times before. He’d imagined their softness, his tentative kisses. Or if he’d dive all in and pour his passion into it. 

The way he’d taste - like the deepest parts of the forest and the salty Mediterranean air at first dawn. He thought that maybe he’d even taste like the sweets he loved for Yusuf to pick up for him in the market in the morning or perhaps like the spiciness of chili peppers after a long day of work.

He’d wonder if he was the first man Nicolò had ever kissed and the thought made him excited.

He’d imagined the moment to be tender, to be filled with fire, and everything in between.

He had not planned on inviting two other people into their group. He hadn’t planned on sharing Nicolò and causing a change in their simple dynamic. Now, Nicolò didn’t have to be forced to be around him all the time. He didn’t have to rely on him. 

There were more of them now.

That meant things would change between them.

The thought alone made Yusuf’s chest tighten uncomfortably as he realized how easily Nicolò could leave. 

The beginnings of that familiar burning ache in his stomach formed - the feeling he always got when Gilda was around and talking to Nicolò or when he thought of him with someone else. Now that there were more of them, he wouldn’t need him anymore. He could wander around with these women without him. Now that they knew they weren’t the only ones in the world who were like this -  _ he could leave him. _

Yusuf would truly be alone.

In the early days of their travels together, in the darkness of the night, Yusuf had asked if Nicolò would ever take a lover or a partner knowing what they were. It was somewhere in between not exactly hating each other but not trusting one another when he’d asked. It was a throw away comment when they were both bored and neither could sleep. 

He’d been prying for information about Nicolò and the question had been more about finding out about his past and his character.

Nicolò had taken a long time to answer, but when he finally did, he’d said that it was pointless to be with someone when they were doomed to walk this earth forever. Why add that kind of pain?

Then he’d added he was a man of God and such things didn’t tempt him.

And Yusuf had replied that if he’d found the right person (he was nervous about revealing his inner desires that he knew didn’t align with the heathen Christians) he’d be willing to explore the possibility.

He remembered how Nicolò had looked at him in pity.

Now he felt piteous himself, knowing that the one person who he had found that he wanted to spend his life with - that he  _ could _ spend eternity with - could be taken away from him because they had discovered they weren’t alone.

He hadn’t realized how much he’d relied on their alienation until the moment when they were introduced to others like them. 

If there were more people out there like them, were they really meant to be together? Or was it just coincidence they had found each other during the Crusades? 

Yusuf felt a sudden hopelessness. The dark emotion caused him to nearly lose his footing and he slowed his pace. 

And he was just beginning to think fate was real. Had he read into the red thread story too much? Had he been too invested in his feelings for Nicolò? Had he misinterpreted the situation? Had he missed the signs and was overcome with lust due to going without sex for so long? 

He looked over his shoulder at the two women and found them quietly muttering to each other in a language he wasn’t familiar with.

They had thought they were special for so long - meant to do God’s work. Was there just a whole slew of people out there like them? 

“How many else are there?” Nicolò asked, suddenly. 

The question interrupted his downward spiral of thoughts and Yusuf was silently thankful for it.

“How many other people have you dreamt of?” The smaller woman asked.

Again Nicolò looked at him and Yusuf could see confirmation in his eyes, as if he were checking with him to make sure their answers were the same.

“Just you,” Yusuf said, answering for Nicolò. 

The two women gave a curt nod as they came to their hut.

“You have 5 minutes,” the Greek woman said.

Yusuf looked at her for a moment before he grabbed Nicolò’s arm and led him into their home. When they entered, the two of them stood there and looked around. 

Yusuf was taking in all of the little things about their house that he loved and knew would never see again. He sighed heavily and looked over at Nicolò who gave him a small reassuring smile.

“Are we sure about this?” Yusuf asked even though he’d already begun to pack up the items he was going to take into a small pile on the bed. He had to grab their bags from the cupboard they stored them in.

“We can’t stay in Palermo forever,” Nico said almost apologetically.

Yusuf sighed and nodded, “yeah.”

Together they began to pack up their items as efficiently and quickly as possible. Yusuf wanted to turn to him and pick up their conversation from earlier, but they only had a few minutes to pack up their life and take off. 

Once their bags were full, Yusuf took another look around their hut and then followed after Nicolò.

“To another beginning,” Yusuf muttered and nudged his arm.

Nico turned back to look at him and gave him a stiff smile before they followed after the women and toward the outskirts of town.

* * *

The women were camping on the edge of the city near the water. They had two horses there and for a moment Yusuf felt a pang of sadness when he saw the animals and immediately thought of Arid and Amico. 

“How long have you been in Palermo?” Nico asked.

“Not long. We had a tip off to find two bodyguards who helped merchants and we kinda guessed--”

“It was the two of you,” the taller woman added.

Yusuf nodded, “And your names?”

“Andromache of Scythia.”

“Quynh.”

“No last name?” Yusuf asked almost teasingly.

Quynh gave him a small devilish smile and he took that as all the answer he needed. 

“Yusuf Al-Kaysani and Nicolò di Genova.”

“So we dream of each other?” Nico asked, getting them back on track.

Andromache nodded, “yes, until we find each other.”

“Why?”

Quynh shrugged, “we haven’t figured that part out yet.”

There was silence in return.

Yusuf sighed and began to set up their tent for the night. They had just purchased one and two new bedrolls, which he was now thankful for. He didn’t usually care how he slept as long as Nicolò was near, but they’d been offered a good deal and their old ones were becoming too worn.

Sometimes it struck Yusuf as so strange that something that he’d had forever would change while he remained the same. The only item that remained from his old life was his scimitar and he had a feeling that would always be a reminder of what his life used to be.

“What have you figured out?” Nicolò asked, moving to help Yusuf.

“We’re immortal.” 

“Almost immortal,” Andromache added.

Yusuf looked over at Nicolò to see how he was reacting to that news, but he wasn’t paying attention, fiddling with one of the sides of the tent.

Or at least to the casual observer it looked as if he wasn’t paying attention. If Nicolò was anything, it was vigilant and watchful.

Yusuf had noticed how his shoulders tensed at the word ‘almost.’

“What do you mean?” Yusuf asked, keeping his eyes on Nico.

“We can die. We don’t know when or why, but eventually, we lose whatever it is that makes us - makes us come back to life,” Andromache said.

“How do you know this?” Nicolò asked.

Yusuf could tell that he surprised the two women who thought he hadn’t been paying attention. He smiled slightly, a warmth spreading through him as he took the moment to preen at how well he knew Nico.

Perhaps, he’d been overreacting earlier.

All people were afraid of change, but eventually, he’d come to embrace this new life with the two women. He had often felt as if he wanted a little family again and while Nico was enough, sometimes he missed having more people to confide in. Like when he first realized he had feelings for Nico, it would’ve been nice to sort them out instead of keep them locked inside. But on the other hand, with more people meant that he had to share Nicolò and he wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

“We’ve seen it happen,” Quynh said, her dark eyes resting on Yusuf.

He turned to look at Nico, but found he was already looking at him. A curious expression on his face.

“When does it happen?” Yusuf asked, keeping his eyes on him and watching as a slight crease appeared on his forehead.

Yusuf liked to think of it as his worry frown, but he knew he probably had a matching one too. 

He thought they’d have forever together. 

Was forever going to end sooner than he thought? And what happened if he outlived Nicolò? 

The thought caused a burning sensation in the pit of his stomach. It rippled upward and for the first time in a very long time he thought he was going to vomit. He clenched his fists and attempted to take several deep breaths as he tried to calm himself. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears, pounding away, and his mouth was bone dry.

A life without Nicolò was a life he didn’t want to be a part of.

“We don’t know. It just does one day,” Quynh broke the silence.

Yusuf turned away from Nico and went back to setting up their tent.

“Well since that day isn’t today, tells us how you found us.”

Andromache smiled and looked over at Quynh who grinned in excitement.

“It was my first time in Seville when I met a man selling lemons…” Quynh began.

They listened as Quynh told the story with occasional chime-ins from Andromache, but as interesting of a story as it was, Yusuf couldn’t help but think about what they had just learned.

How long would they have together if there was an expiration date on their lives? 

He supposed that this was how all couple in -  _ wait, they weren’t a couple.  _

They were just friends.

_ Friends. _

Yusuf felt his cheeks heat up at how easily he thought of them as a couple. He chanced a look at Nicolò and found him intently listening to Quynh. He sighed and briefly wondered what it would be like for them to go from traveling with just the two of them to being a foursome.

Would they still cook dinner together every night?

Would Nico still want to read to him or would he ditch him to spend time with the women?

Would they still have their long talks or would all of their time together be eaten away with making room for two other people?

What about their time traveling together? Would it be forgotten?

Would Nico grow as attached to them as he was to him?

He’d have to share Nico’s attention with the two of them; a reality he kept coming back to.

And now that they knew more people could live forever, would Nico even want him - be willing to explore a relationship between them? 

Perhaps Nicolò felt that Yusuf was his only option. 

Now he had two beautiful women to choose from. 

He didn’t even know if Nicolò was interested in a sexual relationship. 

He was a man of God.

An unfortunate reminder of the conversation they still needed to finish. 

Even though he’d been keeping his drawings and poetry and despite what Gilda had said, he hadn’t heard it from Nicolò’s own lips. And if he hadn’t heard the truth from his own lips, he shouldn’t assume.

Once the story was finished, Nicolò volunteered to make dinner and despite helping him, Yusuf tried to keep the conversation as far away from the poetry he’d waxed mere hours ago.

He now felt like they’d entered a whole new life and the little bubble of happiness they’d built around themselves had been popped.

* * *

That night they crawled into their tent and snuggled into their bedrolls. Yusuf thought that Nicolò had drifted off immediately to sleep, but instead, he reached out for him and wrapped his hand around his upper arm.

The movement caused Yusuf to tense. 

If they were going to continue their conversation, now would be the best time to do so. But the idea of discussing their feelings made him worry about the outcome.

And he was embarrassed to say that he felt fear flow throughout his body at imagining the look of disgust and disinterest on Nicolò’s features. 

He  _ knew _ he should’ve kept his feelings for himself, but Gilda had caused him to feel excited at what could happen between them.

The stolen drawings and poems caused him to think that maybe -  _ maybe _ this was going to be the catalyst to cause their relationship to grow.

“Are you awake, my friend?” Nico asked.

Yusuf swallowed thickly as he realized that now would be the perfect time to continue telling him how he felt. 

How he had repeated his poetry to Nicolò to try to convey his feelings. He tried to think of something to say, but instead, the fear settled in his chest and he remained still. He could hear Nico waiting, letting out little puffs of air as he listened for Yusuf to see if he was awake. 

“Okay,” Nico said softly, taking his silence for either being asleep or not wanting to talk.

And he was right.

And he was wrong.

Yusuf wanted to talk, but he wasn’t ready just yet.

He had to prepare himself for his heart to get ripped out and stabbed when Nicolò told him he only saw him as a friend.

For the rest of the night, Yusuf told himself he was a coward, an idiot, a weakling. The fear sat in his chest, preventing him from telling Nico how he felt. He’d laid out his cards and now that the game had changed, he wasn’t sure how he would react to his hand.

* * *

The next morning Nicolò woke up early. The sun was peeking into their tent and it was already growing hot. 

He looked down at Yusuf and found him still asleep. His features were smooth and beautiful and soft. 

His fingers twitched as he ached to reach forward and run his fingers through those curls.

Not for the first time, he wished he had Yusuf’s talent so he could capture the moment. As he was thinking that, he saw Yusuf’s eyes flutter and slowly opened.

“Did you sleep well, my friend?” Nicolò asked, reaching forward and placing a warm hand on his arm.

Yusuf gave him a sleepy smile and nodded. 

Nicolò opened his mouth to ask him about finishing his thoughts from the previous day. He’d wanted to discuss it the night before, but Yusuf had for some reason pretended to be asleep. He knew the sounds of a sleeping Yusuf and he was definitely not in dreamland when he’d asked him if he was awake.

He knew what Yusuf was going to say, but he needed him to say it. 

He needed to make sure they were on the same page. 

But since they had met the women, it was like he had clammed up. As if the declaration he was going to make changed because there were more people in their group. 

But Nicolò’s feelings hadn’t changed.

Now that he realized the poems and the drawings had all been for him, he knew Yusuf’s feelings were real.

They couldn’t have changed in the blink of an eye.

_ Right? _

That would be preposterous if they had just disappeared because two women had entered their group.

So why hadn’t he answered him the night before? 

He  _ knew _ that he was awake. His breathing hadn’t evened out and he reached out for him in that sleepy manner he did when they were on the cusp of rest.

Was he having second thoughts?

Did Nicolò do something to put him off?

Was Yusuf attracted to one of the women?

Was he afraid?

Nicolò looked down at Yusuf and watched as he slowly shifted around. He could already hear the women packing up the camp and he knew they had to get a move on.

“Yes, did you?” 

“We’re in the wild again,” Nicolò answered with a little shrug.

Yusuf grinned up at him and reached out a hand to touch his face, but as his arm crossed the space between them, Andromache yelled at them to hurry up. They had a long way to walk today.

“Where are we going?” Yusuf called out as he began to roll up the bedrolls. 

“Paris.” Came the answer and Yusuf and Nicolò exchanged curious looks.

* * *

After walking throughout the day, Andromache declared that it was time to set up camp. Nicolò was starting to see that Andromache called the shots. It was a little strange when for so long he and Yusuf decided together what they would do, but things were changing and she didn’t seem like someone he was willing to fight to get his way. He was much happier to go along with the flow as long as nothing bad happened to Yusuf.

He was his number one priority.

As much as he liked them, he worried about what it meant for these two women to now be in their group. It had been him and Yusuf for such a long time, he wasn’t sure how to accommodate two more, especially when it came to trusting them with protection and security. Not to mention the fact that Yusuf thrived off of other people’s energy. He was charismatic, easily approachable, and loyal to a fault. He’d give up his own life as easy for these two women as he would for a stranger passing on the road without a second thought.

But now that they knew that this affliction - this  _ immortality _ \- wouldn’t last, Nicolò was a little more hesitant.

He wasn’t willing to live without Yusuf.

He wasn’t even going to  _ think _ about a life without him.

Nicolò was calculated and practical. 

Compared to Yusuf, his sleeve was devoid of his heart. 

He kept it locked tightly up.

Shield away from harm. 

It was probably why it took him so long to acknowledge his less than friendship-focused feelings for Yusuf. And perhaps that was a reason he worried so much about him, he didn’t want to see him hurt because he was much more unrestricted.

He didn’t lend his trust out as easily as Yusuf did. He was watchful and quiet enough that many times people forgot he was there and would say something that exposed their true nature.

Nicolò had always been good at seeing people’s true nature.

He needed to learn to trust others before he was willing to help them. At least when it came to fellow soldiers. 

If they were helping people during their travels, then Nicolò was open to doing everything in his power to make sure they were cared for. He saw them as individuals who were weak and couldn’t stand up for themselves. He saw them as people who didn’t have the endless amounts of life he had. 

However, when it came to anyone else who tried to insert themselves into his and Yusuf’s life, he wasn’t so easily willing to hand over everything. He didn’t know these women and while they seemed trustworthy, he had been burned in the past and that wasn’t something he wanted to repeat.

Especially if Yusuf was caught in the crossfire.

The day was spent walking north. Yusuf had spent most of the time walking with him in their usual quiet manner, until around mid-afternoon. He watched as he walked a bit faster to talk to the two women to learn more about them. 

Strange pangs of discomfort settled in his chest as he watched Yusuf and Quyhn laugh together or when he saw Andromache smirk a little at a joke Yusuf had made.

He knew that Yusuf wouldn’t just easily replace him for one of these women, but as he watched them together, the feeling of tight discomfort escalated until he couldn’t ignore the jealousy that settled in his heart. 

He knew it was wrong.

It was a sin after all.

But he couldn’t help it when he saw how easily Yusuf seemed to fit in with the two women when he was...well, left to walk the roads alone. 

Would Yusuf come to like them better than him? Would he take one of them to bed? Would he be replaced in Yusuf’s heart?

And that wasn’t even to mention how strangely he had acted last night when he had purposefully pretended to be asleep.

He wanted to discuss the revelation that was on the tip of Yusuf’s tongue. He wanted to tell him that he returned his feelings. He wanted to tell him that he - that he--

“Nico? Do you want to cook your speciality tonight for our new friends?” Yusuf asked as he finished setting up their little tent under some trees.

They had found a pleasant enough area near a river and Yusuf knew that Nicolò had become very good at catching fish and grilling them up in the fire. He called it his speciality because it was easy to make while on the road. If they had vegetables, sometimes he’d make it with the fish and if they were really lucky, they had some spices to throw into it too.

It was Yusuf’s favorite meal while they traveled and since it was his favorite, Nicolò could rarely tell him no.

“Of course,” Nicolò said, moving toward his back to begin searching for his knife to create a spear.

“You’re a cook, Nicolò?” Quyhn asked curiously. 

“I’m not nearly as good as Yusuf,” Nicolò said, pulling out the knife.

Yusuf snorted, “he’s better.” 

“Yusuf likes to flatter people.”

“No, I speak only the truth. Once you cook for Andromache and Quyhn, I’m sure they’ll reiterate my sentiments,” Yusuf said, taking out both of their bedrolls and setting them up in the tent.

Nicolò watched as Andromache cracked a smile at them and then turned to Quyhn. He couldn’t hear what she muttered - if it was even in Italian, the language they had been speaking since they found each other - but it made her laugh. 

He watched as Quyhn’s eyes shone with an emotion he could only call adoration and he realized with shock that there really should be no danger of Yusuf falling into bed with either of these women.

They only had eyes for each other.

He turned to look at Yusuf who was busy with the bedrolls, but he couldn’t catch his eye to show him what he’d realized. Getting off the ground, he moved to trapse into the woods to find a stick that would be good to catch fish. He was caught off guard when Andromache announced she’d go with him. 

“I can’t cook, so I’m always delegated to get the firewood,” she responded to the questioning look that must have been on his face when she moved to follow him.

Nicolò smiled slightly at that, “Yusuf cooked for the first few decades we were traveling together. I think he was afraid I’d poison him.”

He could laugh about that now, but at the time the realization tasted bitter in his mouth.

Andromache raised her eyebrows at him in a silent question and his smile widened a bit more.

“We were enemies.”

“And now?” she asked unnecessarily.

It was his turn to raise his eyebrows and she nodded a knowing grin gracing her lips.

“I see. How long have you been together?”

Nicolò hesitated not knowing if she meant together as in traveling or  _ together together.  _ Which obviously, they were not.

_ Yet _ .

Nicolò had a plan to corner him when they headed into their tent before Yusuf could pretend to be asleep. He had yet to figure out what to say, but he had every intention of laying all of his cards out. The only problem was that he knew he wasn’t going to be as eloquent as Yusuf was when he’d recited his poetry to him. Nicolò knew he couldn’t pour words of poetry to him, but he could be honest.

He could tell him how he felt.

But a worry was tugging at his heart as he thought back to the night before when Yusuf pretended to be asleep to avoid talking to him.

Had something changed and he’d missed it?

“We’re not together,” Nicolò said, finally deciding that she meant together with romantic intentions.

She looked at him blankly and then bent down to grab a few pieces of fallen sticks for their fire. “I meant traveling together.”

“Oh. Yes, right, about 50 years. More or less, I suppose.”

She was silent to that and he felt suddenly as if he had to explain their whole story.

“But we met in 1099. He was a - a - well, I was a Crusader. He...wasn’t. We fought for a long time. Killed each other again and again...now we’re here,” he said picking up a long stick that looked like it could be a good spear, but then he saw how it was being used as a home by a creature, so he put it back gently and moved on.

“Enemies turned friends, then?” she asked with a little smirk.

He ‘hmmed’ in response. His focus was on the earth, searching for the perfect stick to go fishing.

“Quyhn and I met in the desert. I had been alone for a very long time. I thought that I’d be alone forever...and then there she was - like an angel near death,” Andromache cleared her throat and he could feel her eyes resting on him.

“It’s important not to be alone, you know. This life can make you go crazy if you let it,” she added quietly.

Nicolò looked over at her, but by that time she was already back to looking for firewood and her gaze was on the ground. He studied her for a moment, his mind conjuring question after question about the life she had led. He could tell that she was old, that much was clear, but the way she just seemed to  _ know  _ made him think that she was older than he could even imagine.

“Tell me, Nicolò, where have you two traveled?” she asked, changing the subject to a lighter matter.

He smiled and began to tell her about Merv, Palermo, traveling through the Holy Land, and along the Silk Road. As they gathered firewood and he finally found a good stick to turn into a spear, he found that talking to Andromache was easier than he’d thought it would be. Although, he still refrained from asking the questions he was so curious about. Like about her relationship with Quyhn and how old she truly was.

When they got back to the camp, he found Yusuf and Quynh sitting around the tiny fire they had started with debris and some sticks. Yusuf was telling Quynh a story that had her roaring with laughter. For a moment, Nicolò felt another roll of jealousy in his chest, but when they reentered the little campsite, Quynh turned to Andromache and her smile widened, her eyes radiated love, and she seemed to melt at the sight of her. 

And Nicolò knew he didn’t have to worry about anything, especially when he turned to Yusuf to find him watching him with a look that was extremely similar. 

Yes, tonight, he’d be cornering Yusuf and they’d finally get everything out in the open.

* * *

Dinner was delicious. He’d caught two fish and the four of them split them. Yusuf had taken care of the vegetables to hurry the meal along and then they spent time trading war stories around the crackling fire.

Quynh was the first one to declare she was off to bed. She got off the grassy earth, stretched, said ‘goodnight’ and gave Andromache a look that was clear she was meant to follow. Nicolò was happy that they had put their tent far enough away that they wouldn’t feel uncomfortable by whatever went on during the night.

When it was just the two of them, he glanced up at the starry sky and let out a gentle sigh.

“Are you okay with all of this?” Yusuf asked quietly, breaking the silence.

Nicolò’s eyes locked on his and he felt his stomach drop and come back up at the pure adoration in his eyes.

He wondered how he had missed so much when Yusuf had been in front of him all along.

“I’ll miss it being the two of us,” he admitted.

Yusuf grinned and scooted a bit closer, so their sides were pressed together. “We can always go off alone. I have a feeling Andromache and Quynh wouldn’t mind. We’re not bound to these women, but it’s nice to know that we can - we have people we trust.”

Nicolò nodded slowly, not completely listening to the words that were coming out of Yusuf’s mouth as he gathered his courage to lean in.

He knew he was no good with words, but perhaps his actions would show Yusuf how he felt.

“Quynh was telling me--”

“Yusuf, I’d like to continue our conversation from yesterday. Before - before all of this,” Nicolò said, gesturing around them as an excuse to move his arm to wrap around Yusuf’s shoulders.

It had been a long time since he’d kissed someone and he could feel the nervous worms in his stomach twisting themselves in knots. He could make out the features on Yusuf’s face. His big brown eyes staring intently at him, his neatly trimmed beard, his full lips that he somehow knew would feel warm and soft on his own.

“What?” Yusuf asked, his eyes glazed over and lowered.

Nicolò took that as his cue to lean in and place a gentle kiss on those soft looking lips. His arm tightened around his shoulder to keep him upright as their mouths met, so tentatively, so gently. 

He was afraid Yusuf was going to pull away in disgust.

But that’s not what happened.

Instead Yusuf leaned into the kiss, and he could feel his hands move upward to cradle his face.

Nicolò breathed in the sweet, spicy scent of Yusuf. He could feel the prickles of his beard brush against his own skin and he knew there would be burn the next day, but he didn’t care. Not when Yusuf was making his heart almost hammer out of his chest with this chaste kiss.

He briefly imagined what his heart would do when he touched him in his most sensitive areas.

After what could have been minutes or hours, Nicolò pulled back and took in a shuddering breath as he tried to calm his racing heart. He leaned his forehead against Yusuf’s, his eyes closed since he was too afraid to open them. When he felt like he had better control of his body, he went to pull back again, but Yusuf’s hand shot up to his neck and angled his head to move forward for another kiss. 

This time it was hungrier. The sweetness was still there, but Nicolò could feel Yusuf’s tongue touch the edges of his lips until he opened himself to him. He heard him let out a little sigh of contentment at the movement. He could feel Yusuf’s tongue warm and slippery exploring his mouth and he tightened his hand in his hair to hold him right there, never wanting the feeling to stop.

With his other hand, he moved it to cradle Yusuf’s face, feeling the familiar curves of his features and softness of his skin beneath his fingers. He heard a little groan and he wasn’t sure if it was him or Yusuf.

But then a peel of high pitch giggles broke the air and they were moving apart so fast, Nicolò felt his head reeling at the sudden departure. It took him a few seconds to realize that it was just Andromache and Quynh in their tent and he let out a long sigh. 

Chancing a glance at Yusuf, he saw that his eyes were wide, his breathing heavy, and his lips looked swollen. A jolt of possessiveness overcame him, knowing that he was the one to have done that to him.

“Tent?” Yusuf murmured nodding to their tent.

Nicolò nodded, not trusting his voice. They got up simultaneously to head in for some privacy. He wasn’t sure if they were going to continue where they left off or they’d actually have everything out between them, but one thing Nicolò did know was that he’d willingly die over and over again as long as Yusuf kissed him like that for eternity.

* * *

Yusuf’s head was reeling as he realized that he’d just kissed Nicolò. He had every intention of talking to him after that kiss, but once they entered the tent, he grabbed the back of his head and brought their lips to meet again. 

_ They could talk later. _

He pressed his tongue to the seam of Nico’s lips as a silent plea for entry. As if he could feel his desperation - and to be honest, he probably could - Nico opened his lips to him and Yusuf pushed his tongue in, needing to feel closer to him. His hands moved from his sturdy shoulders up to grasp his face to angle him just right. 

He wanted to crawl into Nicolò’s warmth. He wanted to feel him surrounding him. He wanted to feel him inside of him.

“Wait - wait,” Nicolò said, pulling back suddenly and regarded him through glassy silver misty eyes.

“What’s wrong? Did I do something--” Yusuf began, but Nicolò held up a finger and pressed it gently to his lips to quiet him.

“You’ve done nothing wrong, my -  _ my life _ .” 

There was a ringing silence as those words left Nicolò’s lips and Yusuf flexed his fingers that still rested on the side of his head. He moved his left hand away from cradling Nico’s face and placed it over his hand that found its way to his waist. He entwined their fingers and brought the limb up to kiss the back of his hand. 

“Do you want to stop?” Yusuf asked quietly, once he’d broken the kiss.

When he looked up at Nicolò to gain an understanding of what he was feeling, he saw his eyes had a sheen to them.

His features had softened and Yusuf took a sharp intake of breath at the pureness in his expression.

It radiated love.

“I don’t have any oil,” Nicolò admitted and even in the darkness, Yusuf could see the light blush that was coming over his features.

Yusuf laughed quietly and moved to his bag. He began to shift some things around, but finally his hand clasped around the small bag that he kept spices, honey, and oil in. He took out the small vial and handed it over toward Nico who gave him a gentle smile.

“Have you done this before?” Yusuf asked, watching Nicolò look down at the vial in his hand.

Nico nodded slowly and Yusuf could feel his eyes widen in surprise.

“A story for another time,” he said with a twinkle in his eye.

And despite the fact that thinking of Nico with another man wasn’t exactly what he wanted to imagine before they were about to make love, he was intrigued to hear more about his fri -  _ well, he wasn’t exactly a friend, but he wasn’t sure what else to call him.  _

His lover?

His companion?

His beloved?

_ His Nico. _

That was better.

He was intrigued to hear more about  _ his Nico’s _ past. More than just the little comments he’d made in passing during the last 50 or so years of traveling together. 

As he looked at Nico staring into his blue eyes, he made a mental note to pry open the layers that he still hid from him. He knew Nicolò better than anyone alive, but there was so much to still be explored.

Thank  _ Allah _ they had eternity together.

Or as close to eternity as they could get.

“Have you?” Nico asked, his voice sounded almost bashful as he asked.

Yusuf smiled, “yes.”

Nico was silent as he took that in and Yusuf longed to ask him what he was thinking, but he didn’t want to ruin the moment. Instead, they stared at each other for a long moment before Yusuf took a tentative shuffle toward him and as slowly as their first kiss, he moved in to find Nico meeting him half way.

Once their lips touched, the tentative, slow movements disappeared. In their place, heat and need ignited between them.

Yusuf reached for Nicolò’s tunic and tugged it over his head before meeting his lips once more. Discarding the rest of their clothes, they came back together with nothing separating them. He began to forge a trail of kisses down his body, making sure to twirl his tongue around his nipples to cause them to pucker in the cool night.

He heard Nico take in a sharp breath above him and he chanced a glance upward to find him watching him, his hand tangled in his curls. He grinned and then went back to the trail of kisses until he got to his hips. He placed a gentle kiss on both of his hip bones before facing his semi-hard length. He glanced back up at Nicolò as if asking for confirmation that this was okay and with the tiny nod he got in return, he placed a kiss on the tip before slowly taking it into his mouth. 

He wrapped his lips around the sensitive head before slowly moving down until he couldn’t take anymore of him into his mouth. He moved one of his hands from Nico’s thighs to grasp the base of his cock and in tandem he began to move his head and fist. With his other hand, he massaged his thigh, feeling the soft hairs tickle the palm of his hand.

He could feel Nicolò slowly growing harder and harder in his mouth. Breathy little sounds  escaped his lips. Yusuf could feel his hips threatening to buck upwards to meet his movements, but he tightened his grip on his thigh to get him to stay right where he wanted him. Flattening his tongue to press against the head, he heard Nico let out a muffled grunt. 

He sucked his cheeks in, hallowing them out as he took him a little deeper into his mouth, his hand wrapped tightly around him.

It was only when he felt the tug on his hair did he come off him with a gentle pop.

“I’m not - you need to--” he gestured down to rely that he was ready and Yusuf grinned in  response at how tongue-tied he’d made him.

“I’ll have to remember this technique when I want to get out of getting the firewood,” Yusuf teased and Nico let out a strangled laugh.

Moving in to kiss him on the lips, he felt Nicolò smile against him. He was so taken with their languid kisses he didn’t realize that they’d switched positions and now he was on the ground and Nico hovered over him. He watched him for a moment when they pulled apart. 

They hadn’t actually had the conversation of what they preferred or what they liked, so Yusuf was a little curious to know what was going to happen now. He wasn’t sure if Nico liked to be on top or if he expected Yusuf to take control. But he figured that they’d do what they always did - read each other.

“Is this okay?” Nico asked, spreading Yusuf’s knees apart, so that he was on full display for him.

Yusuf’s mouth was absolutely dry as he looked at Nicolò from his new position, so he nodded in response.

Nico grinned when he realized that he’d caused him to lose his voice, but instead of teasing him the way Yusuf had done to him, he coated a finger in the oil and tentatively moved to press the tip of it against his entrance. Yusuf let out a long breath at the sudden intrusion - it had been a long time since he’d done this - but as Nico began to slowly move his finger in and out, the tightness began to dissipate. 

He opened his eyes for a moment to see Nicolò watching him with such focus, his eyes looked as if they were burning into him. He gave a little nod to signify that he was ready for a second finger and Nicolò smiled in response. He felt himself stretch a little wider, a little more of a burn as he felt the second finger join the first.

Arching his back, his knees fell to open more as he grinded down on Nico’s hand. He  could feel his fingers curl slightly as they looked for that little nub to bring him pleasure. Slowly, his fingers moved in and out of him, drawing out his rapture and opening him wider and wider for him. 

“One more?” Nico asked in a raspy voice.

Yusuf nodded, not trusting his own voice as the next finger joined the other two. He felt

Nico’s other hand move along his skin and through the haze of desire, he felt him grab his fist and unwind it until their fingers were linked. He smiled as their entwined hands and then with a voice that was laced with lust and - dare he say - love. He announced he was ready.

Slowly withdrawing his hand, he began to close his legs to move onto his hands and knees, but Nicolò stopped him.

“Where are you going?” he asked, a flash of fear appearing on his face.

Yusuf moved to kiss him again, wanting to reassure him. He kissed and nuzzled his nose before pulling away to answer. “Don’t you want me like this?”

“I want to see you,” Nicolò said, pushing him back to his previous position.

Yusuf let him be maneuvered into how Nicolò wanted him and then watched as he lined himself up to his entrance. Nicolò looked up to watch him as inch-by-inch he pushed into him, stretching and filling him until he was fully enclosed. When Nicolò was completely inside, he stayed very still for what seemed like eternity before he began to move, slowly at first until he could find a pace they both enjoyed. 

Yusuf met him thrust for thrust. Getting lost in the sensation of how full and warm Nicolò made him feel. He opened his legs a little wider, to accommodate Nico and he was rewarded with deeper movements. Ones that were so drawn out and filling, they made his toes curls and his strange noises fall from his lips. 

But he wanted to feel him closer to him, he wanted to feel their slick skin rubbing against one another. So he reached out a hand and grabbed Nicolò’s which rested on one of his knees. He guided Nicolò, so that he was hovering over him and his legs wrapped around his waist, getting them into a new position, one where he was closer to his beloved. 

He could hear Nicolò letting out breathy little noises as he moved in and out of him. And he pocketed the sound to keep for later, when he wanted to remember this moment. 

Wrapping his legs a little higher around his waist, he shifted his hips to take him in at a new angle. 

“Ah, yes,” Yusuf mumbled without realizing that he was speaking out loud.

In response, he could hear Nico mumbling in Genosese, which made his heart feel lighter at the familiar sounds. 

He answered in kind in Arabic and he was rewarded with a heady kiss to his lips.

Nico was hitting that spot inside of him just right and he was beginning to feel that familiar tingling sensation overcome him. In this new position, his hard cock was sandwiched between their bodies, getting the friction that he so wanted to help him reach that moment of completion.

His vision was beginning to blacken around the edges and he knew he wasn’t going to last much longer with the combined friction and sensation of Nico hitting that pleasurable spot inside of him exactly like how he wanted him to.

“Nico - Nicolò - my--” Yusuf began to ramble, but was cut off with a kiss that sent him  over the edge. He could feel the wave of pleasure wash over him. His vision momentarily went black, but he could still feel Nico inside of him. It was the only thing grounding him. Moving in and out until he let out a string of whispered Genoese onto his skin. He felt him come inside of him and then with a little sigh he collapsed onto Yusuf, their bodies tangled and still connected. 

The tent was silent for a long time as Yusuf ran his hands up and down Nico’s soft, slick back.

“Next time, I’m on bottom,” Nico said with a devilish grin.

Yusuf laughed and for a long moment they stayed like that, with Nico collapsed on top of him. Their heavy breathing filled the tent and then he rolled off of him so they were side by side. Yusuf knew that they were both sticky, so he reached over to grab a stray linen and used some water from his water skin to wet it. Running it along Nico and then himself to clean up, he used the last of his energy to toss the linen aside to deal with tomorrow. 

Laying back down, Yusuf could still feel Nicolò underneath his hands and he already ached to have him close to him again. Hesitantly, he looked over at him to find him already watching him.

“Was that--” Yusuf began to ask.

Instead of answering, Nicolò reached forward for a kiss that warmed Yusuf to the tips of his toes.

He deepened it, his fingers getting lost in his soft strands of hair until he needed to pull back. Smiling, he looked into those silver misty eyes. 

The warmth he saw in them radiated through him until it reached his heart.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a long time,” Nico said, his eyes staring straight into his.

Yusuf leaned in to rest their foreheads together. The urge to take him in his arms and cuddle him was overwhelming.

“Me too.” 

The two of them were quiet for a long time, laying side by side on their bedrolls, resting their foreheads together. Yusuf would breath out and Nicolò would breath in. Nothing else existed outside of their little tent.

“So we’re doing this?” Yusuf asked, finally breaking the silence. His voice was barely above a whisper when he asked.

“Do you - do you not want to?” Nicolò responded barely able to finish the question.

He could hear the hesitation and concern in his voice when he asked and he immediately wanted to get rid of it.

Yusuf moved his hand to cup Nicolò’s face so he could look into his eyes, wanting him to make sure that he understood what he was saying. He’d already messed up so much. Not just last night with the overwhelming fear he felt. But before that when he didn’t see how clearly Nico had felt for him. He should’ve been honest from the beginning. He shouldn’t seen what was in front of him all along.

His mind flashed to the red thread story of that silly and stubborn boy who had been afraid of his future and Yusuf momentarily felt pity toward him.

It was hard sometimes seeing what was right in front of you. 

_ Sometimes the mind twists it all up with doubts and worries. _

“Nicolò, I love you as a friend,” Yusuf began and even in the darkness of their tent he could see the slump of his shoulders. “And I love you as so much more. I’ve wanted to tell you how I feel for a long time, but I was - I didn’t want to ruin what we had. What happens if we grow tired of each other? Or what happens if it doesn’t work between us? What happens if we’re better off as friends?” Yusuf asked quietly.

Nicolò gave him a little smile and he leaned in to place a kiss on his lips. It felt like a promise - like  _ love _ . It was soothing and sweet and perfect. It was purely Nicolò.

“And what if all of that does happen? I don’t think it will ever change the fact that I love you. I’d rather have a few good years with you than never take this step at all. You’re my life - my heart,” Nicolò said softly.

And just like that Yusuf knew this new chapter between them was going to be an adventure. But it was one he was going to take with Nicolò and that’s all he needed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! I didn't want to ruin too much of the chapter, so I added this last author's note.
> 
> We have one more chapter to go! I've always really enjoyed the stories of Joe and Nicky getting together, but you never see a lot of them after they've gotten together in the first few years of them actually being together, especially in the Middle Ages. So I really wanted to explore that.
> 
> Leave a comment or a kudo if you wish! Thanks again!


	6. Eternity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yusuf and Nicolò face eternity together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for not getting this up on my weekly Thurs update! I'm dog sitting, which is great, but he's pretty needy. Plus I wasn't super happy with how the chapter came out, so I needed to do some major editing. Anyway, it's here now. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has taken the time to read this little story! It's been very fun to write and I'll miss getting into the minds of Yusuf and Nicolo! Maybe I'll write more for this fandom, but as of right now, I don't have any good ideas to explore. I really appreciate everyone who dropped a comment or a kudo. I hope you like the last chapter! 
> 
> Thank you again!

_"All things from eternity are of like forms and come round in a circle..."_

_~Marcus Aurelius_

* * *

_Fez 1260_

Nicolò hissed as the knife he was using accidentally sliced his thumb. He watched in mild fascination as it closed up before his very eyes. 

The accelerated healing would never get old.

He stuck his thumb in his mouth to get rid of the excess blood and then repositioned the small piece of wood in his hand to avoid another injury. 

It was going to be a small box for Yusuf when he was done. But for now, it still looked lopsided and bland.

The empty house radiated a stillness that Nicolò rarely felt these days. But as much as he wanted to take advantage of it, a hollowness had settled in his chest and kept his mind occupied. 

The argument he’d had with Yusuf kept replaying itself on a loop.

Despite the fire burning bright and beautiful in the corner, Nicolò felt cold. Andromache and Quynh had headed south for a little vacation, which meant that for the first time in 10 years he and Yusuf were completely alone. 

It was a nice contrast to finally have some time just the two of them after being a foursome for a decade. While the time had passed quickly, it had taken some getting used to. There were more people weighing in on their decisions for their future, which could be a benefit and a negative. Things needed to be discussed ad nauseam with two other people. But they’d also avoided a lot of bad situations due to having two more people on their side.

Nicolò didn’t mind it, most of the time.

Generally, he enjoyed traveling with Andromache and Quyhn. They were quick-witted, respectful, and they had a plethora of stories to keep them entertained. But it wasn’t the same to how it had been when it was just the two of them.

When they had traveled themselves, they discussed _everything_ with each other.

Now, Andromache made most of the decisions being the oldest. Even if they didn’t agree with it, she had the final say. 

Andromache and Yusuf had verbally battled the most. A few rows had turned pretty ugly and caused Nicolò and Quynh to have to talk to their significant others. The problem was that they were both passionate people and sometimes, it made them butt heads. 

At the end of the day, they always apologized and made up.

No hard feelings.

But it was still tiresome to maneuver between the two of them and avoid getting caught in the crossfire. 

After the last fight, Andromache had announced she’d take other people’s ideas into consideration after Yusuf had called her controlling. And Yusuf had said he’d try to reel in his frustrations and bring them to her before they got out of hand.

It was a lot of living and learning.

Giving and taking.

Fighting and making up.

And slowly but surely, they were finally finding a rhythm to live, travel, defend, and protect. 

Nicolò enjoyed that both Andromache and Quyhn wanted to help people just as much as he and Yusuf. They’d been involved in a few uprisings and had helped during a take over. He wasn’t sure if they were always on the ‘right side.’ But he did know he liked having a purpose. Yusuf had said that as long as they didn’t go back to the Crusades, he’d be fine. But even then, he was warming to the idea of fighting intruders into other countries to keep the citizens safe. 

Strangely enough, they were beginning to find comfort in their new existence.

Once Andromache and Quyhn came back, Nicolò knew they were going to need to prepare to fight the Mongols who had been waging war all throughout the far East.

And who, they had found out was behind the destruction of Merv years earlier.

Nicolò wasn’t sure if he’d ever get over the fact that he’d learn about the history he’d lived during through the scope of scholars and intellectuals decades later.

It was much different living in the terror of the moment than hearing the linear, factual retellings of it.

He wondered what would happen in two hundred years when he looked back on this time.

He sighed heavily and looked toward the door, waiting for it to open to reveal Yusuf. 

As much as he enjoyed thinking about the past and the future, his present was a bit more worrisome.

The door remained immobile, as it had for the past few hours after Yusuf had left through it with a mumbled, ‘I need some air.’

When staring at the heavy wooden entrance didn’t alleviate the worry resting in his chest, he looked at the little table in the corner they all usually crowded around. Without Andromache and Quyhn there was more room, which meant that he couldn’t cozy up to Yusuf during their meal times.

Not that Yusuf would want to cozy up to him right now.

Not after their fight from earlier.

Nicolò sighed heavily and considered eating the dinner he’d finished just before their argument. The food had long ago grown cold and the idea of eating alone wasn’t appealing.

To occupy his time, Nicolò had brought out the little wooden box he was making for Yusuf to carry his drawing materials in. He’d been carrying them in a satchel, but the satchel had been stuffed hurriedly in his larger pack on their last escape and the pieces of charcoal he’d painstakingly collected had been broken. He figured that a box would be a better option to carry around his drawing materials to avoid another hazard.

Placing the knife and the piece of wood down, he stood up to stretch and walk around the large room. 

With four people, it was better to find a larger house that they could all have privacy in. There was a large main room with a fireplace and then there were three backrooms. Yusuf and Nicolò were in one while Andromache and Quyhn took another. The last room was for storing their items and drying out food for the long winters.

Like all of their previous ones, Nicolò tried to make this one home. However, the more they disappeared from cities and the longer their lives extended, the more he struggled to add a homely touch. 

Each time he did, he felt a stab to his chest when they left at how they had to leave everything behind.

Again.

He loved each of their houses, but he knew he shouldn’t get too attached to them. Not when they left them after two - three - _ten_ years. 

He missed their house in Merv.

He loved their house in Palermo near the sea.

He’d found comfort in the one in Paris.

Their current residence held a lot of fond memories.

Yusuf’s attempts at baking, especially for their 10 year anniversary of the four of them traveling together. The storm a few years back that caused them to meet some of their neighbors to help clean up the debris. Nicolò had taught Andromache how to make bread, which was fascinating to him because being so old, he’d figure she’d need to know how to cook and bake everything. Quyhn had taught them how to make rice to perfection.

The idea of leaving made his heart fill with melancholy.

It was a nice place, but Nicolò knew that their time was coming to an end here. Once Andromache and Quynh returned, that was the end of this part of their lives.

He’d asked Quynh once how she overcame the sorrow of leaving each place and she looked at him blankly as if the sorrow didn’t even register anymore.

He’d asked Andromache the same question and she gave a little shrug.

He’d learned Yusuf was a better person to talk about these things with. He understood that heavy sadness. The type that rested in his chest at the idea of leaving the places they’d laid their roots. He’d asked Yusuf about it one night after they’d made love and were on the cusp of sleep. He could tell his eyes were already closed because his tone had been wrapped in exhaustion.

He could hear the sweet smile on his lips and he leaned in to nuzzle his nose against Nicolò’s.

And then he’d let out a little yawn.

“My Nico, why do you think I’ve tried to draw all of the places we have lived?”

Nicolò had smiled in response and leaned in to kiss him, something he took great relish in doing since they had finally realized their feelings for each other. No matter if it was the first kiss in the morning or one before they drifted off, Nicolò always bathed in the warmth of what Yusuf’s kisses did to him. “You understand how I feel,” it was a statement, not a question. Yusuf always understood how he felt.

“I used to think that each place we tried to stay and had to leave behind was taking a part of me, but now I understand,” Yusuf had placed another kiss to Nicolò’s brow before continuing, “I’m gaining a little something from each of these places, not losing it.”

Nicolò had kissed him again in response and wrapped his arms around him to feel his warmth. It was one of the many poetic sentences that left Yusuf’s lips and always made him a little envious that he wasn’t able to recite such poetry back to him.

Yusuf deserved poetry.

And kindness.

And tender love.

Shaking his head from his thoughts, Nicolò walked around the large room before coming to sit back in the rocking chair. As he sat down, he heard a noise outside the door and very slowly it opened up to reveal Yusuf on the other side. He cast Nicolò a glance. His eyes emanated such a downtroddenness that he wished never to see again.

Each step brought him closer and closer. Nicolò was grateful that it looked as if it was time to make up. It was the best part after a fight, in his opinion. Yusuf was extra accommodating. 

“I’m sorry,” Yusuf said, coming to a stop in front of him.

Nicolò looked up, watching him carefully as he knelt down. He placed his hands on Nicolò’s knees and buried his head in his lap. Nicolò ran his fingers through those curls he loved so much and smiled down at the back of his neck.

“I’m sorry too, my love,” he responded.

Yusuf let out a long shuddering breath as the words left his mouth.

They stayed like that for a few minutes, both needing to feel the comfort of one another as the feelings of anger dissipated and turned to need.

Nicolò leaned down and placed a gentle kiss to the back of his neck and Yusuf melted into him. Wrapping his arms around his face, he rubbed his cheek against his clothed legs. 

“Are you still angry?” Nicolò asked quietly.

He felt Yusuf shake his head against his lap and he pressed another kiss to his skin, lingering a little longer than before.

“Would you like to eat? I made dinner.”

Yusuf pulled his head back slightly, but kept his hands still in Nicolò’s lap. He could feel the warmth radiating from him through the linen of his clothes.

“I didn’t mean those things that I said,” Yusuf began.

“I know.”

“It was wrong of me.”

“It was.”

“Do you forgive me?”

Nicolò smiled slightly and leaned in to place a kiss on his forehead. “Always.”

Yusuf relaxed a little more and then nodded once before standing up. He offered Nicolò his hand and led him toward the table where he had dutifully set it for when he came back. The stew had already been dished out. It wasn’t hot anymore, but neither of them commented on it. Instead, they sat side-by-side, their legs pressing against one another. His hand was still in Yusuf’s. 

Arguing between them was nothing new. They weren’t happy with one another all of the time. Sometimes he closed himself off to Yusuf and that frustrated him and Nicolò knew this. Other times Yusuf allowed his passion and hot headedness to dictate his actions and Nicolò fell back into old coping methods to deal with it. Things weren’t perfect and that was something Nicolò had to accept. 

They were never going to be perfect. All they could do was make sure they were respectful and honest with each other. 

They loved each other and that was enough. 

Just because they got into one fight didn’t mean what they had together wasn’t worth it.

It would always be worth it to Nicolò.

It was just one of those things he was sure about like the sun rising in the east and setting in the west.

Nicolò wondered if they’d ever get to a point where they didn’t get into arguments. It was normal behavior to do so, but that didn’t mean he liked it when it happened.

They’d spent years hating one another after all. But it had been a long time since they had come to spew words of anger. It had all started over something miniscule and seemed to escalate to something more within minutes.

Those were the worst kinds in Nicolò’s opinion - the kind that started off as one thing and then morphed into another.

The worst things were said.

Words that were meant to cut deeper than their weapons ever could were tossed around and Nicolò wished he could take back the things he’d said. 

He knew Yusuf wished that too. 

Yusuf had picked at areas that were still raw and Nicolò had responded in kind.

He had spent a long time with Yusuf and he never doubted him, but there were times when he felt such frustration with his stubbornness he thought about leaving him just to be vindictive.

But leaving him would be just as hurtful to Yusuf as it would be to Nicolò.

And those thoughts flew out of his mind just as quickly as they entered it. They were fleeting thoughts that occured when anger overtook him. The main purpose was to come up with an idea to make Yusuf see how idiotic he was being. But he knew what leaving would do to both of them - their relationship, to their trust with one another.

It was an easy solution to a complex situation.

Where his frustrations with Yusuf usually lie was due to his protectiveness. He didn’t want to see him make a costly mistake. He didn’t want to see him get hurt. He knew that they couldn’t die, but that didn’t mean they didn’t feel pain.

Sometimes Nicolò’s overbearing protectiveness got in the way of the fact that he loved him and wanted what was best for him. Or maybe his love for Yusuf was what caused the overbearing protectiveness.

“That was our first real fight,” Yusuf said quietly, finally breaking the silence.

Nicolò looked down into his stew bowl and considered how to answer it. He could hear the weariness in his tone and he wanted to sooth it.

“We’ve fought before.”

“Not like that.”

There was a beat of silence.

“Did we survive it?” Nicolò asked, wanting it to sound more teasing than it ended up being.

Yusuf gave him a sad little smile and tightened his warm hands around Nicolò’s.

“I love your patience,” he said softly.

Nicolò grinned at him and brought their joined hands up to kiss them. “And I love your protectiveness. Now, let’s eat and agree to move past this.”

Yusuf nodded, but a frown still lingered on his brow as he began to take spoonfuls from the stew. Silence settled between them as they both ate their dinner. Nicolò would occasionally glance up to find Yusuf looking lost in thought at his bowl of stew. When it had become evident that he wasn’t going to voice his thoughts, Nicolò decided to coerce him a bit to get him to talk.

“Where did you go?” he asked.

Yusuf glanced over at him and shrugged one of his shoulders. “I walked around the square and then came back. I was sitting out in the yard for awhile until I…”

“Mustered the courage to come inside?”

Yusuf smiled sheepishly and nodded. 

Nicolò reached across the table and picked up his hand. He brought it to his lips and placed a kiss there, wanting Yusuf to know that he wasn’t angry at him and his words hadn’t hurt him. 

Maybe they had in the moment, but he wasn’t looking to hold grudges against him.

“My heart, couples fight. It’s natural. Remember that row between Andromache and Quynh a few months ago? Quynh had stabbed her…” 

The worry frown on his features had softened and he relaxed a little. Nicolò could see that Yusuf did remember that fight. 

“I don’t want to stab you. Not ever again,” he said although an amused little smile had come to his lips.

Nicolò shook his head, “that’s not what I meant. Couples have arguments. It’s natural. We are around each other all the time--”

“And I like being around you.”

“And I you, but sometimes - we’re only human.”

Yusuf snorted, “I don’t feel human. I’m over 200 years old.”

“Almost 200,” Nicolò corrected.

Yusuf rolled his eyes, “what’s nine more years going to be compared to 200?”

“What I’m saying is that I love you. A fight is not going to change that.”

Yusuf was quiet for a few minutes as he seemed to take in what he said. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Nicolò smiled softly, “You won’t. Not anymore.”

They went back to eating their meal, but the tenseness still lingered until after they had scrapped their bowls clean. Nicolò sighed heavily and decided to try a different tactic to get Yusuf out of his own head.

“Do you remember when I killed you the first time?”

Yusuf scoffed, “I killed you first.”

Nicolò waved his hand in the air as if to say ‘semantics.’ “I remember looking into your eyes and seeing such warmth and passion. I remember feeling for the first time in a long time that what was going to come next was okay. I couldn’t explain it. Maybe chasing after you for decades helped me realize my feelings, but even then when I was supposed to hate you, I knew you were more than I had ever expected. I thought that I came to love you when I began to trust you and we became friends, but the truth is, sometimes I think that I’ve always loved you. I just had a hard time dealing with it. It’s easier to hate and kill than to look at what’s right in front of you.”

Yusuf smiled softly and got up. He crossed the room and walked down the little hallway that led to the separate bedrooms. He returned moments later with a piece of parchment. It looked old and there were creases along it. Initially, Nicolò thought that it was one of the many that Yusuf had done of him, but when he handed it toward him, he saw that it was one he had never seen before.

He was sitting by the fire, his head was down and he had a blank expression on his face. When Yusuf drew him, he always captured the look in his eyes, the way his eyebrows tilted up or his lips tilted down. He could read him like one of his poems and Nicolò always loved seeing the world through Yusuf’s eyes.

But this one was colder than any that he’d seen in the past. It was a beautiful drawing, but it seemed almost as if he were looking at another person instead of himself.

“What--”

“I drew this the first night of our truce. When we met those bandits outside of Tyre. I remember that night so clearly. I felt so conflicted about you, as I had for a long time by that point. I remember feeling confused as to why I preferred killing you with my hands rather than a sword. I remember realizing that I had drawn you and wanting to burn it, but being unwilling to do so. And I remember how I wanted to ask you all of these questions, but was too afraid,” Yusuf admitted. 

His voice was barely above a whisper, but Nicolò could hear him so clearly as he re-lived that night with him. He looked down at the parchment and ran a hand across it, so gently as to not to disturb the charcoal. Then he looked back up at Yusuf who was watching him.

“You kept it?”

“I keep all of my drawings of you,” Yusuf said as it made all of the sense in the world. “The poems too,” he added.

Nicolò could feel a blush overcoming his cheeks. A desperate need to show Yusuf how much he loved him filled his heart. He looked back toward the hearth where he’d been whittling away the little box to keep his love’s drawing materials safe.

_Soon I can give you something too._

Nicolò took in a shaky breath and decided to lighten the mood, “we’re going to have an entire room of all of your artwork by the end of the century.”

Yusuf laughed and moved in to kiss him softly on the lips. 

Warmly pressed up against him, the combination of love and tenderness that Yusuf gave off made him melt. He didn’t think he could love this man anymore, especially after their exchanged words, but he always did something to amaze him.

“I love you and I’m sorry for the things I said. I never want to hurt you again,” Yusuf whispered, pulling away.

Nicolò laughed and Yusuf looked affronted. “We’re going to live for centuries, Yusuf, you don’t know what’s going to happen anymore than I will.”

“Well I’m not going to be vindictive about hurting you,” Yusud defended.

Nicolò thought back to earlier when he had considered leaving him in the dead of night just to show him a lesson. He licked his lips as he considered his next words carefully.

“It brings me pain when I see that you’re hurting, my heart,” Nicolò began. He could feel Yusuf began to tense up beside him. “And I know that you don’t intend to be mean and hurtful. I see you. I see the way you wear your heart on your sleeve.”

Yusuf smiled slightly, “and you wear yours deep in your chest. Tucked away like treasure to be found.”

Nicolò grinned and nodded, “always the romantic.”

Yusuf matched his grin and leaned in to kiss him once again. Getting lost in the feel of one another, Nicolò was the one to break away with a shaky breath.

“You’re my closest friend, Yusuf. Not just my love, my heart, my life. I’m not letting you go after a fight. Not when we have eternity to go,” Nicolò said once he had found his voice.

Yusuf searched his face, “I think I should like to fight with you every day rather than live eternity without you.”

Nicolò rolled his eyes playfully, but he could still feel the heat on his cheeks.

“Let’s go to bed.”

Nicolò smiled already knowing what was in store for both of them. He took Yusuf’s offered hand and followed him to the bedroom. 

He ignored the mess they had left of the house, it could be dealt with tomorrow. Right now, he wanted to be with his love.

* * *

Yusuf tugged Nicolò behind him, intent on taking care of him as he did every night. They had begun their nightly routine, which generally soothed both of them before it was time to sleep. However, on the particularly difficult nights - the nights they came home from missions with heavy hearts and blood soaked skin, they participated in a different routine. Neither of them had ever really talked about it, it just was _there_ \- like Yusuf’s warm passion and Nicolò’s emotive looks.

A few years ago after a particularly bad mission, they had begun a different nightly routine. One that helped Yusuf make sure that his beloved was all in one piece when they got home. 

Yusuf had watched Nicolò being taken away from him and tortured. He’d been chained up to a tree at the time, left for dead. He remembered fighting the chains, contemplating cutting off his limbs and waiting for them to grow back just so he could make his way back to Nicolò. He had rescued him with the help of Andromache and Quynh after only a few days, but when they found him, he’d been a mess. 

His beautiful face was bloody.

One of his strong hands was just a stump.

And the sound of his breathing - which Yusuf loved to feel tickle his ear - sounded shuddering and shaky.

The memory alone was enough to twist Yusuf’s stomach into knots.

After that mission, Yusuf had taken Nicolò home and he’d washed him in water heated from their fire. He’d made sure that all of the cuts and broken bones had healed. He’d waited until his hand grew back to make sure that he was healing properly. And then he combed his hair and wrapped him in warm blankets and cuddled him in close. Yusuf held him tightly to him, sleeping in their now common position of Nicolò in front and Yusuf at his back. 

It was a position they both enjoyed. Although, to get Nico to admit it had taken some coaxing on Yusuf’s part. 

Nicolò had a protective streak, which is why he liked sleeping in front Yusuf had learned. And Yusuf always had his back whether it was in a fight or in bed. He liked feeling Nicolò pressed close to him, especially on nights like tonight. 

While they hadn’t shed blood tonight, they had opened emotional wounds both of them had inflicted on one another. And Yusuf felt the urge to care for him as if they had just sustained battle scars. 

He merged their nightly routine with their usual one. 

Usually, one of them read outloud to the other. Blankets wrapped tightly around themselves. Whispered, warm conversations before bed. And showing how much they cared for one another before drifting off. 

They didn’t have any warm water, so instead, Yusuf sat Nicolò down on the bed and got the comb from the table where they kept small knick knacks. He ran a hand through those silky strands and Nicolò let out a deep sigh before relaxing into his touch. The room was quiet as Yusuf worked the comb over and over through his hair. 

“Your hair is getting long,” Yusuf commented.

He didn’t need to see Nico to know that he was smiling. 

“I like when we do this,” he said in response.

Yusuf’s hands stilled midway through combing his hair. He hesitated and then said, “it’s soothing.”

“Hm…”

They fell back into silence again and Yusuf continued combing despite the fact there were no more knots. He just wanted to stay like this for a little while longer. He’d come to realize it was the little moments with Nico that had become his favorite. When it was just them, doing simple things like making dinner or cleaning the house. He didn’t even mind fighting so much as long as he got to show Nicolò how much he loved him afterward. 

If his life would be filled with loving moments of taking care of Nico, then that was a life he would most ardently enjoy.

“I was cleaning today,” Nicolò began softly. 

He seemed to be just as afraid to break the silence too.

“Cleaning, you say?” Yusuf asked with a lilt of teasing in his tone.

Nicolò reached back and smacked him lightly, “I found _that_ book.”

“We have many books, my Nico, which one do you mean?”

“You know, the one we stole from the bandit’s all those years ago?”

“You mean the one _you_ stole?”

Yusuf was rewarded with another shallow smack to his side and he laughed heartily. 

“I read it,” Nicolò said when Yusuf’s laughter had died down.

Yusuf paused. Neither of them had ever read it. He wasn’t sure why, but it seemed like more of a symbol than anything. They carried it around from place to place. Always made sure to grab it before they left whatever dwelling they were living in. They’d take turns carrying it. If anything, it was more of a sign of how far they’d come. The book for all that it held dear to them had begun to fade away.

The binding was coming apart, the pages were yellowing, and the words were even rubbing off as if someone had erased them.

Yusuf remembered trying to read it in the beginning of their travels, but he recalled that his mind had been occupied.

Thoughts of Nicolò had infiltrated his mind and he’d casually tossed the book aside to try and focus on something else that would tire his brain out.

“And? Was it worth carrying around for decades?” Yusuf asked after a lengthy pause.

It was Nicolò’s turn to be quiet as he considered the question.

Yusuf began to tie back Nicolò’s hair. He made sure to keep it loose and low, just the way he liked.

“The book wasn’t really about - well, it wasn’t well written. But that’s not why we carried it around for as long as we did,” he said, choosing his words carefully.

Yusuf moved around to stand in front of him, leaning against the wall as he regarded what he’d just said.

“I read it, you know. Maybe a few weeks after we started traveling together,” Yusuf admitted somewhat sheepishly.

Nicolò raised an eyebrow at him and Yusuf shrugged one shoulder in an almost apologetic fashion.

“I didn’t understand why the writer kept using the same words over and over. I would assume that it would be good, but--” Yusuf shook his head. “I guess that’s what we get for stealing from a bandit.”

Nicolò laughed quietly, “without that book, I would’ve never found out your feelings for me.”

Yusuf grinned at that, “and I, you.”

They stared at each other for a long beat. 

“Maybe it was fate that we found it,” Yusuf spoke his thoughts out loud.

“Fate? Now you believe in it?”

“Without the book, I probably would’ve lost those drawings or stowed them away elsewhere.”

“It wouldn’t have been as easy to find them,” Nicolò conceded.

Yusuf was quiet as he contemplated the past. He remembered every detail of realizing that Nicolò shared the same feelings and wanted to further their friendship. But one question had always bugged him. “When you found my poems, who did you think I wrote them for?” 

Nicolò’s face brightened in the soft candlelight. The flushed redness graced his cheeks and Yusuf couldn’t keep the smile from his lips.

“I thought you’d written them for a woman,” he confessed.

Yusuf’s smile dimed somewhat as he took that in and then a confused frown graced his features.

“What woman?”

Nicolò shrugged slightly, but he ducked his head and Yusuf knew that he knew the answer to that question. Even if he didn’t want to say it. He wasn’t going to let him get away with not answering the question though.

“What woman?” Yusuf asked again.

Nicolò sighed heavily and bit his lip. “You told me that a woman caught your eyes in the market once. I figured that perhaps you’d - you’d caught feelings. What else was I supposed to think?”

Yusuf looked at him blankly, unsure what woman he was talking about.

“What woman?” he asked again.

Nicolò shifted in his seat. “It was in Merv--”

“A woman in Merv?”

“Yes! Don’t you remember?”

“I don’t. How could I think of anyone else when I had you. _Why_ would I look anywhere else when my thoughts were so occupied with _you_?” Yusuf asked, amusement coloring his tone.

Nicolò ducked his head and Yusuf reached forward to tilt his head up so they could look each other in the eye.

“I only have eyes for you,” he said.

Nicolò blushed again and waved his hand off, so he could push the chair back and stand up.

“Such a flirt.”

Yusuf chuckled and followed after him. 

“Would you have me any other way?”

Yusuf had meant it as a joke, but when Nicolò turned to look at him with those sweet silver eyes that held more warmth than the hottest parts of the Sahara, Yusuf knew he’d touched something deep within his partner.

“Sometimes I wonder how I got so lucky,” he admitted softly. He reached forward and Yusuf stepped forward into his embrace so Nicolò could cup his cheek. “I started believing in fate when we met, you know,” he said quietly.

Yusuf felt his stomach drop to his toes and his heartbeat begin to hammer.

He had _not_ known.

He’d assumed with his upbringing that Nicolò had always been a man who believed in fate. The way he’d talked about it made Yusuf think that it was embedded in him, just like his belief in his mission as a Crusader.

“I thought we were fated to kill one another for the rest of eternity,” he added after a pause and then a sad smile graced his features and he leaned in to place a chaste kiss upon his lips. “How little did I know that in truth we were fated to love one another for eternity.”

Yusuf took a deep breath before speaking. When the words didn’t come to him, he leaned down to kiss him again, needing the comfort his Nicolò always offered.

“And you say that you’re not a poet,” he said when they broke away.

Nicolò laughed lightly and pulled away only enough to lean his forehead against Yusuf.

“Come my heart, let’s go to bed. We’ve already recited enough poetry to one another tonight,” Nicolò said leaning forward to kiss him again.

Yusuf smiled against his lips and let Nicolò tug him over toward their bed.

They may not have started off as much to one another, but Yusuf was beginning to realize that it didn’t really matter where they started out as long as by the end they were wrapped in each other’s arms.

That was the only place Yusuf wanted to be for the rest of eternity.

And by the soft smile and ethereal eyes staring back at him, he knew that’s exactly where Nicolò wanted to be too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The End!
> 
> Thanks again for reading! Drop a comment or a kudo if you'd like!


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